Filius Superhominis I: The Kent Family Secret
by Jeune Ecrivain
Summary: A teenage boy begins developing the powers of Superman. After discovering where they came from, he must learn to use his new abilities while coming to terms with a startling truth about who he is.
1. Chapter 1: Trick of the Eyes?

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is based on characters created by Jerry Siegler and Joe Shuster and owned by DC Comics and Warner Bros. This is purely for entertainment, and no profit is being made from it.

**Chapter 1**

"How 'bout you, Mr. Kent?"

Ben Kent regarded the teacher that had addressed him. Mr. Sauf was a thin, silver-haired man with a neatly trimmed moustache and beard. His eyes seemed to beckon Ben to the front of the class. Each member of the large yet select Honors Biology I class had been given a hypothetical specimen with a given trait, or _phenotype_, and the genetic factor that caused that trait, or _genotype_. From the genotype, they were each to figure out the possible pedigrees of their specimen. It was simple enough for Ben, almost mathematically simple. Science was his best subject, though it was an odd thing to say about a kid who had as many honors classes as there were available on his schedule and managed to score in at least the mid-nineties in every single one of them.

"Uh...sure," Ben said, cringing inwardly at his own awkwardness as several snickers let loose behind him. He pulled out several half-size, hand-made posters from his book bag, stood up deliberately, and walked up the narrow space between two rows of desks and approached the chalkboard. _It's okay, Ben_, he thought to himself, _Just picture the audience in their underwear_. As soon as he had thought this, he scoffed to himself. _What a cliché!_

But then again, Benjamin Samuel Kent's whole life seemed to be one big cliché, and not one that put him in a very favorable role. He was a textbook image of the nerd. He was a straight-A freshman who was all too accustomed to being the skinny, bespectacled boy who just did not belong anywhere near the teen scene. He was a wallflower, content to stand at the back of any social event and either read a book or contemplate the meaning of life. Ben had thick blackish brownhair that could be hand-combed into a slightly unruly version of the Beatles' trademark mop-top in about five seconds. His glasses, though not excessively large or thick, were still sufficient to collaborate with his bangs in leaving his otherwise intense brown eyes in obscurity. In fact, Ben's handsomely carved nose and square jaw would've turned several female heads were it not for the distraction of the glasses.

The worst thing about his glasses was that their lenses were flat and clear. They served no corrective purpose, but a protective one. There was absolutely nothing amiss with Ben Kent's vision, except for a phantom disease called oculovulnerosis that, according to Dr. Farmer, the Kent family practitioner, left his eyes abnormally vulnerable to solar damage unless protected by some sort of barrier. Forever wondering if new treatments had arisen that could relieve his need of the accessory that sealed his niche as a nerd, he continually scoured the Internet for information on this mysterious ailment, but to no avail. It was as if Dr. Farmer was the only physician in the world who knew of oculovulnerosis.

He looked around the relatively small and crowded classroom of Metropolis High School as he walked up. The walls were built with large beige bricks and were decorated with posters, most of them encouraging the students to read in some way or other. As Ben turned to face the class, he watched his fellows with a discerning eye. Some were classmates that he knew could rival him academically. Others, especially those who slouched in their seats and carved obscenities into the surfaces of their desks, did not give Ben a very good opinion of the screening process for Honors classes.

However, once he reached the front of the class, a familiar confidence overtook him. His acute knowledge of virtually anything he talked about and the comfort it afforded him never failed to turn the somewhat awkward teen into a smooth talker, as long as the subject was at least of a vaguely academic nature.

"My specimen," he began, "was a human child who is heterozygous for brown hair. She has one dominant allele and one recessive. There are a couple of different possibilities as to the genotypes of her parents." He pulled up his first mini-poster. "If you look at this Punnett square..."

He stopped in mid-sentence and blinked, as if something invisible had startled him. As he had finished the word "square," a strange sensation arose in the back of his eyes. It was as if a muscle he never knew he had was focusing his eyes much like fingers would a pair of binoculars! But this sensation, strange as it was, was not what had startled him. Even more eerie was the fact that, at the same moment, it seemed that the top layer of everything in the room faded into transparency, retaining only a tint of their color! Outer clothing, the formica on the desks, posters, all seemed to take on a ghostly translucence. He could literally see his audience in their underwear! Not exactly enjoying the idea of knowing the boxers-to-briefs ratio of the class, he looked quickly elsewhere. His gaze fell on a rather attractive girl, and he felt himself blush as he admired her thighs for a split second. Turning his gaze frantically to the desk, he could see the pens, notepads, detention forms, and a multitude of other assorted office items in the closed drawers!

Ben blinked, rubbed his temples, and closed his eyes. He opened them. As quickly as this hallucination had come, it was gone.

_Okay, that was weird and scary_, Ben thought to himself. He shook his head violently. He decided to resume his presentation, though his concentration had now shifted to the phenomenon, or hallucination, or whatever it was that had just happened. "If you look at this Punnett square," he continued, "it demonstrates one possibility. One parent could've been homozygous dominant, the other homozygous recessive. This scenario would've guaranteed that every child born from this coupling would be heterozygous and would have brown hair."

He went through a few other possibilities, and just as he was beginning to lessen the mental attention he diverted to inwardly trying to figure out what had just happened to his eyes...

The phantom muscle moved again, this time a little further. Now, he could see the inner workings of the pens inside the teacher's closed desk drawer! Looking at the class, he realized to his shock that his vision had penetrated yet another layer. The class looked like the town meeting at a nudist colony, and he was seeing things he knew no 14-year-old boy should see! Blushing at his own brief self-indulgence in a nearby girl, he hurriedly tried to think of a way to bring his vision back to normal, and squinted as an experiment.

This experiment produced the opposite results! He gasped as the outer layer of muscle and connective tissue of the students he faced lay exposed to him, covered by unfortunately very transparent integument. There was no anatomy book that could've prepared him for such a sight! To his horror, the walls of the classroom were all but gone, and he could see into the next classroom, where Dr. Savorcy was looking right at him but not noticing him as he scrawled figures with chalk onto the opposite surface of a very translucent chalkboard!

He rubbed his temples again, and blinked. To his relief, his vision was suddenly restored to normalcy. But now, he was visibly disturbed. Puzzled murmurs began to spread throughout the class.

"Benjamin, are you alright?" Mr. Sauf asked, concern written on his face.

Ben wiped the sweat from his forehead. He blinked several times, and finally made an attempt to reassert himself. "I'm fine," he said, still wide-eyed.

"You sure? You don't need to go to the clinic?"

"No," Ben said. He doubted the school nurse would ever believe him, much less be able to do anything about what he himself still wasn't convinced was real.

Mr. Sauf looked at him skeptically, then shrugged. "Okay. Any more possibilities?"

"Ye-yeah. There is one more." Ben sighed and presented his last Punnett square. His body was in the classroom, as was his voice, and just enough of his mind to keep his voice going. But the remainder of his thoughts were on whatever was going on with his vision. It would be a long day for Ben Kent.

The last minute of his presentation seemed to drag on for hours. He needed to sit down. When he finally half-sat, half-collapsed into his seat, he caught the eye of a girl sitting two rows down from him. For the briefest instant, there was a flicker of concern in her eyes, but it disappeared all too quickly and she turned to murmur to a friend behind her.

Much of Ben's thoughts were immediately diverted towards her, despite his continued confusion over his strange visions. This was Francesca Esperanza Mánquez. Sometimes, Ben wanted to forget her. Others, he wanted to hold on to the memories he did have with her. And what memories they were.

He didn't remember exactly how he had met her, but he did remember the day care center where he and Francesca used to play together every day. They were two years old when they met. It had afterwards become habit for Francesca to approach little Benny the minute her parents released her, and she would soon have him engaged in some game or role-playing activity. Her favorite featured herself as a sleeping Snow White and Ben as Prince Charming. Sometimes, she would even enlist the smallest kids she could find as dwarves, but they had always come up far short of seven.

Unfortunately, that game had ended when Ben entered his girls-have-cooties phase. In fact, she couldn't even give him the occasional peck on the cheek without him saying "Ew!" until they were about eight or nine.

Long before that, however, the Kents and the Mánquezes had been forced to get to know each other by their children, and addresses and phone numbers had soon been exchanged. In a seemingly cosmic coincidence, they had discovered that they lived just a few blocks from each other!

Ben remembered countless visits to the Mánquez residence. He remembered Francesca's typical greeting, which was always either warm or excited. He remembered swinging at the piñata that was the traditional highlights of Francesca's birthday parties. He remembered being anxious to show off his costume to her every Halloween, as he did sharing his candy with her the day after.

Of course, Ben and Francesca had had their fights. The first one was when Ben had refused to play house one morning. At the age of four years, Francesca did not take no for an answer, not even from her parents, much less Ben. Fortunately, she'd mellowed as she got older. Their next memorable disagreement occurred when the duo was seven, and the most recent one during their friendship had taken place, interestingly enough, at Ben's tenth birthday party.

Then came middle school. Remembering the disappointment he had felt when he had realized he shared no classes with Francesca, Ben had since then labeled the beginning of sixth grade as the beginning of the end. At the time, however, he had thought that he would have plenty of time to catch up with her on weekends and during the summer.

Meanwhile, however, Francesca had befriended Jo, Grace, and Jim, and found herself becoming very active in cheerleading and other activities, most often with these three by her side. Ben remembered passing the foursome in the hall, debating over the best method of making Grace's "totally cute" would-be-boyfriend jealous, critiquing harshly how Jessica Fennison's new swimsuit fit her, and other such things that struck Ben as significantly out-of-character for Francesca.

During the following summer, Ben would see Francesca less and less often. Between her three new companions, it was becoming more and more of a challenge for her to find time for him. All too often, she would ask him, albeit apologetically, if he would postpone a movie or a card game so she could join Jo and Grace at the mall or check out Jim's new stereo. Seeing that she seemed happy doing such things, Ben had never refused her.

They'd continued to drift apart, and by the time Ben realized how far it had gone, the change in his former best friend was even more apparent. Yet, whenever they'd chanced to encounter each other in the halls of school or on the busy streets of urban Metropolis, she remained reasonably friendly towards him. But, to put it bluntly, it just wasn't the same.

Even that complacent friendliness had come to an end, and it had been a much more abrupt one than that of the closer bond that had been eroded more gradually. He had attended her thirteenth birthday party; the last one he would be invited to. There'd been no piñata. There'd been no rendition of the Spanish-language version of _Happy Birthday_, which had served to remind her of the heritage she had always enjoyed. There'd been just balloons, cake, and the latest in teen pop music playing on the CD player.

It had occurred to Ben that this wasn't the type of music that Francesca would ever really like. It was technically pop, but it seemed to resemble hard rock too much for what he knew were her true tastes. Still, she'd raved about the song, almost as if she were "protesting too much." As he watched her more closely, his intuition had told him with surprising certainty that that was exactly what she was doing. On some level, she had never changed. He had known instinctively that she was not as happy as everyone, perhaps even she herself, believed. As long as she was truly happy, he could stand to see her drift away from him, though he couldn't deny that he missed her. But the knowledge that she wasn't was what had made him confront her that night.

He now wished he hadn't, for what he had meant to be a serious but peaceful discussion turned into the biggest argument he had ever had with her. Who was he, she'd asked, to say what she really liked and didn't like? Who was he to tell her who she was? Her final words were still as clear in his mind as the day she'd said them, or rather shouted them. "Why don't you just stay out of my life?" she'd bellowed.

The room had fallen silent, which Ben had been sure was a physical manifestation of the remainder of their friendship crumbling into nothing. With those words, it was over. He had turned around quietly and left without a word. Later that night, a few tears had suddenly emerged from his eyes and stained his red cheeks.

Ben glanced at her now. She was growing into a beautiful young woman. She was slightly shorter than average, with straight blonde hair that adorned her neck and upper back. She had bangs that curved gently on her forehead and were sometimes swept to the sides, thin eyebrows that worked with her pretty brown eyes in making vivid expressions, a fine, slightly broad nose, and lips that could form effortlessly into a wide and lively smile. But in almost two years, seldom had he seen such a genuine smile.

Ben scowled subtly. She had just started wearing the type of excessive eye shadow that characterized Britney Spears and the like, and she seemed to go out of her way to stay just barely within the dress code. Her dark eye makeup made her look like she was on some sort of drugs, and her dark halter top and low-riding jeans didn't do justice to the caliber of girl he knew she really was. He wondered sardonically if she even knew that she was detracting from her own natural beauty in the very attempt to bolster it. It all seemed absurd to him. He resented Jo, Grace, and Jim for turning Francesca into what he now beheld, but the logical part of him simultaneously reminded him that it was not their fault that Francesca was so impressionable.

The bell sounded on the PA system, and the sounds of chatting and shuffling books quickly assumed full volume. Ben slipped his notebook into his book bag, slung it over his shoulder, and began to walk slowly towards the door.

"Good presentation today, Benjamin," Mr. Sauf said, not looking up from his grade book as Ben opened the door.

Ben nodded. "Thank you. See ya tomorrow."

"You too."

He emerged into the busy halls of Metropolis High, and his thoughts returned to the strange visual incidents. He couldn't believe what he had seen in those brief flashes, but he had seen them nonetheless. The startling images were still fresh in his mind, and it became doubtful that he would ever completely forget them. Ben began to fret, seriously wondering if he was losing his sanity. But if he was, he also asked himself, why? He had experienced nothing that could be considered traumatic by any stretch of the imagination. He had no previous history of mental illness. All his life, Ben knew he had been completely sane and healthy. Why then was he seeing things, if only for a few moments at a time, no human eye should be able to see? Why were his eyes suddenly capable of penetrating solid, opaque surfaces and seeing what lies within or underneath?


	2. Chapter 2: The Fangster & the Speedster

**Chapter 2**

Ben had just ascended the long, white staircase to the second floor of the large, metropolitan school. Pausing on the final landing, he leaned on the railing and watched the immense herd of students shuffling to lockers or to classes. The crowd seemed to flow through classroom doors like a fluid, and he realized that perhaps if he went to school in a smaller town he would know and get along with more of his classmates. Ben's father, a successful journalist and novelist, had grown up in a town appropriately named Smallville, which lay just 20 miles south of the outskirts of the city. For being so nearby, Smallville was a startling juxtaposition to Metropolis. Metropolis was the New York City of Kansas, but Smallville was the Kansan Mayberry. Ben idly wondered how his life would've been different had he grown up there. He knew he enjoyed the time he spent there every summer with his farming grandparents, Jonathan and Martha Kent. There was a sense of community in Smallville that he could find nowhere else. He knew dozens of people in the town better than the handful he knew in the city. Maybe, when he graduated from college, he would move there.

Lost in his thoughts, Ben didn't hear until too late the steps approaching him. Before he knew it, he was pinned against the wall with a very unwelcome face glaring at him.

"Hey, Kent," his attacker said with a smirk on his face.

This was Gary Fangler. He was a stocky, athletic boy with red highlights in his blonde hair and a ring in his left eyebrow. Ben had known him almost as long as he'd known Francesca, but unlike Francesca, Gary never was a friend to him. In elementary and early middle school, Ben had learned to fear him. He even wondered if the slight unruliness of his hair was due to the culmination of the countless swirlies he'd received courtesy of "the Fangster." In the third grade, Gary, who had had an intimidating stature even at that age, had cornered Ben just outside the cafeteria and had demanded that he pull Farrah Walters' hair. When Ben repeatedly refused, Gary sent him home with a bloody nose and two black eyes. His parents had repeatedly asked the school and even Fangler's parents at one time to take some action, meanwhile advising Ben to do his best to avoid him. But it seemed that no disciplinary course would deter Gary. He appeared to take the detention or whatever else was offered to him with little resistance and only waited for it to be over so he could resume his intimidation of his bespectacled punching bag.

Ben recalled his fifth grade science project. He had spent countless hours at Metropolis Public Library, reading, copying, highlighting, and drawing meticulous diagrams for his "Overview of the Mesozoic Era." His parents had even procured the luxury of a large cedar backboard instead of one of cardboard. Among the items that graced this fine board was a profile of _Compsognathus_, the smallest dinosaur, and the famous Tyrannosaurus rex, the largest. He also had a thorough description of what really constitutes a dinosaur, a two-paragraph commentary in which it seemed he was trying desperately to dispel the persistent myth that man and dinosaur once coexisted, and pictures and descriptions of little-known dinosaurs such as _Pachycephalosaurus_ and _Ornithominus_. Finally, he placed a list of "Fun Facts" on one side panel, and on the other, a description of each theory about the cause of the great reptiles' demise followed by an analytical paragraph advocating the evolution-into-birds theory, using the half-reptile, half-bird _Archaeopteryx_ as his main support.

Ben wasn't sure if he was ever more proud of something he'd done in his life. He even remembered wondering if he could save it for the Science Fair later that year. But Gary Fangler had other plans.

Ben had dropped off his paleontological wonder at school the day before it was due, as most other kids had chosen to do so that it would be ready to present the next morning. He had been disappointed when a substitute teacher had been there, hoping to show his masterpiece to Ms. Falley. But disappointment turned to horror when he walked into science class the next morning to find the "Overview of the Mesozoic Era" in worse condition then kindling wood. All that was left were dozens of jagged pieces of wood and torn paper. It looked like one of the carnivores it described had chewed it up and spit it out.

Minutes after he was greeted with this horrific sight, it was discovered that a fire ax case not far from the classroom had been broken into and the ax stolen, and graffiti was all over the surrounding walls. That same day, Gary Fangler was found guilty of his first act of vandalism. An accomplice confessed and told the whole tale. Apparently, Gary's original plans were to just "dirty up those prison walls," as he had put it. But when he had passed the fire axe, he had broken the case with an evil grin and seized the axe as a trophy. Finally, on his way out, he had passed by the door to Ben's science classroom and peered through the window. Ben could just see the smirk on the Fangster's face as he used his dad's presumably stolen credit card to unlock the door and made short work of the testament to the Mesozoic era.

Fortunately, Gary had at least become more subtle in his malevolence towards Ben. Starting around the end of seventh grade, Gary generally would leave Ben unharmed, both physically and academically. All it would cost him was his math homework, an English essay, or whatever other assignment Gary had decided to blow off the night before. Ben had complained repeatedly, but once again the population of the school worked against him, and it seemed that administrators were doing all they could to regularly discipline a few of the multitude of troublemakers that graced the halls of Metropolis High. To keep both his conscience clear and his skin un-bruised, Ben had quickly begun writing two of whatever assignment he anticipated would be in demand the following day. One, which he kept hidden, would be the one he would keep to turn in. It almost always earned him yet another A. The other, which he surrendered to Gary, he designed and executed specifically to bring its bearer a D. "D" for "decoy," he would muse. Fortunately, with the advent of honors classes in high school, he now shared only two electives with Fangler, so the scope of the assignments Gary could coerce him into doing was significantly reduced, but Gary had continued to make do.

By the time Gary had caught on, he had found himself a one-way ticket to juvy hall. Now, it seemed, the Fangster had returned.

"You're back," Ben observed flatly.

"I never got to thank you for that F you got for me," Gary said. He then furrowed his brow in mock puzzlement. "I was just wondering how it is that I get my work from you, and yet you always get A's and I always get D's or F's."

_Wow! Maybe he's not as slow as he lets on!_ Ben thought sarcastically.

Gary looked his victim up and down. He then smirked. "You been working out, Kent?" he asked. "Tryin' to beef up for lil' ol' me?"

Ben could've sworn he saw a trace of apprehension in what he assumed was a remark made from pure mockery and sarcasm. He sighed. "Look, Fangler, I'm really not in the mood today. Not that I ever actually want to be graced with your presence, but today is really not a good day."

"Since when do you decide when it's a good day or not?" Gary said coolly, lifting Ben a few inches off the floor, still pinning him to the wall.

Some kids are saved by the bell. Ben groaned as he heard the bell ring. Gary let him down, obviously very pleased with himself. "Looks like everyone's star student is late for class," he chuckled bitterly and strutted off to what was probably a remedial class. Ben glared after Gary's retreating form for a second before taking off towards his health class. Fortunately, the halls were by then all but empty, which gave him plenty of room to run. And run he did.

With every step, he picked up speed, accelerating at a rate that surprised even him. Within five seconds, he was traveling at a brisk run. He continued to accelerate, expecting to start puffing and sweating any moment. He didn't. In fact, he was sprinting like a relay runner yet felt as if he was leisurely walking. As he continued to accelerate, Ben saw his surroundings zoom by him at a speed almost comparable to that of the view through a car window. Still, he shed not a drop of sweat nor felt any shortness of breath at all. Ben looked down at his feet and saw them moving at unnatural speed. It was as if someone had videotaped him running and was fast-forwarding the film. The sheer and astonishing ease with which he was still running fueled his continued acceleration, and before he knew it he was zooming down the halls so fast that his mind could barely keep up to navigate and tell his body where to go. For a brief instant as he approached the door to room 603, his surroundings became a blur as they zipped behind him at warp speed.

Ben stopped abruptly and looked at his watch. It was 2:35 and 32 seconds. The bell always rang at 2:35, which meant it had taken him a mere half-minute to get to a classroom almost at the other end of the school! Ben shook his head, perplexed and disturbed. First he can see through solid surfaces, and now he can run as fast as an automobile? It was official. Something was happening to him. Something big. And he had no idea what it was. He felt an infant panic growing in his mind. But he willed himself to stay calm and reassured himself that he would figure it out sooner or later, and then he would decide what to do about it.

He opened the door and entered the unusually spacious classroom.

"Ah, so you are here," Ms. Jeuno said.

Ben nodded sheepishly to the athletic woman who had greeted him and sat down silently. He tried to clear his mind for class, but that had become impossible. He felt as if he was living in a _Twilight Zone_ episode.

"OK," Ms. Jeuno announced, calling the chatty gathering to order, "today we're going to go over the musculoskeletal system. Bones, muscles, tendons, ligaments, that sort of thing. How many of you read the chapter last night?"

Ben had read the chapter, but his hand didn't go up. He was too distracted by another sudden episode of see-through vision. He rubbed his temples and blinked, and his vision returned to normal. Ben shuddered. He'd had his share of unusual days, but nothing compared to this! He was used to having those days when unexpected situations seemed to come out of nowhere, such as a phantom homework assignment or an assembly he hadn't anticipated. But today was downright eerie! What on God's green Earth was going on?

For perhaps the first time in his academic career, Ben Kent simply could not concentrate. Most of the teacher's words went in one ear and out the other. Ben couldn't help but turn the day's bizarre events up and down and inside and out in his mind, his analytical mind trying and failing miserably to come up with a reasonable explanation.

The last bell of the day sounded and jerked Ben out of his reverie in what seemed like a very short period of time. Ben stood up and slung his book bag over his shoulder casually, but the teacher's voice stopped him before he reached the door.

"Ben, you have a few minutes before you have to catch the bus, right?"

Ben nodded, regarding her quizzically.

"I wanted to discuss something with you."

Ben shrugged and walked up to her desk.

"Pull up a desk and sit down," she ordered gently.

Ben complied, still wondering what this was about.

"You're one of the smartest kids at Metropolis High," Ms. Jeuno began, "so I don't think I need to remind you of my lecture on anabolic steroids. The side effects, the dangers, all that stuff. You probably remember it all."

"Most of it," Ben confirmed. He recalled that steroids increased muscle mass but had several dangerous side effects, many of them affecting the reproductive organs. As a classmate had so cleverly paraphrased it once, "they can make your balls shrink." Considering how males often took great pride in their masculinity, Ben was surprised that that often wasn't enough to discourage their use.

"Look, I'm not here to punish you or even turn you in," the teacher continued gently. "But I want to help you if you're having a problem. Maybe you could see your guidance counselor…"

"Wait…" Ben cut her off, perplexed and a little offended. "You think I'm on steroids?"

The teacher nodded, firmly and yet gently, as if wanting to play the role of a therapist rather than that of a disciplinarian.

"Where did you ever get that idea?"

The teacher looked at him as if it were obvious. "Look at you! Two months ago, you were one of the skinniest kids here. Now, you look better than most of the boys on the football team! Nobody develops that kind of muscle in just eight weeks!"

"What muscle?" Ben asked, genuinely puzzled.

"You mean you haven't noticed?" Ms. Jeuno asked very skeptically.

"Look, I don't know what's going on with me," Ben said, secretly referring not only to his supposed muscular growth but also the other two strange abilities he had been experiencing, "but I swear, I am not on any steroids. I'm not on anything."

"Then explain your new musculature! I know boys' muscles grow a little in puberty, but they don't grow like that!"

"I can't explain it!" Ben said in frustration. "I don't know what's going on. I really don't. But I am not taking anything. I'll get a blood test if you want."

Ms. Jeuno looked at him, skepticism dancing in her eyes. Ben knew he would be hard pressed to convince her that he was clean, but she seemed to accept his apparent obstinance. "It might come to that. But for now, just be careful. And if you are taking something…I urge you to get help wherever you feel comfortable. I know you get bullied, but escaping that isn't worth what steroids can do to you."

He nodded. "I know. Thank you for your concern."

Ms. Jeuno nodded, and Ben found himself a little annoyed at the vibe she was sending him that seemed to say, "I'm offering you a way to work through this before you get in trouble. It's not my fault if you don't take it." Slowly, he turned to leave.

No sooner had he stepped out than that mysterious ocular muscle moved again and he found himself looking around at seemingly un-walled classrooms and the contents of closed lockers. He blinked, and it was over.

Ben shuddered once more. "Could today get any weirder?" he muttered.

Resembling a zombie, he found his locker, put away his array of textbooks, retrieved his jacket, scarf, cap, and gloves, and made the five-minute trek to the front entrance of the school. He paused before the front doors, his mental wheels turning over and over as he robotically put on his denim jacket, and worked his hands into his woven red gloves. Little noticing the crowd around him, he bemusedly wound his checkerboard scarf comfortably around his neck and placed his wool cap snugly on his head, leaving only a few locks of his dark hair exposed. He remained deep in thought as his hands automatically pushed open the doors and he exited onto the front yard of campus.

The gold letters spelling out "Metropolis Senior High School" loomed over Ben as he emerged from the curved stone transom surrounding the wide doors. Metropolis High was a large school, built mainly of brick with white stone accentuating the borders of the dozen windows on each of its three floors. The surrounding campus was wide and, in warmer months, luxuriously shaded by a multitude of low-rise trees. But in the middle of December, the trees were bare, and a thick layer of snow lay on the ground like a huge white blanket. A row of bushes decorated either side of the cobblestone walkway that joined with the sidewalk on one end and led to the entrance on the other.

Alongside the sidewalk was a line of school buses that stretched about a few blocks on either side from school property. Equally as long was the line of students along the sidewalk. They were all constantly loading onto the buses, but the number just arriving in the crowd seemed to equal those that entered their buses at every moment, and the mass maintained a relatively constant size. Ben knew this scene well. He knew that the long, thick line of chatty peers would begin to dissipate within another five minutes. But his mind remained on the oddities of the day.

"Hey, kid," his obese bus driver interrupted his ponderings, "you goin' home or not?"

Ben nodded and stepped up into bus number 407. The hum of about forty voices greeted him and enveloped him as he made his way down the narrow walkway between seats. Finding an empty seat towards the back, he set his book bag next to it and sat down.

He noticed, half to his pleasure and half to his dismay that Francesca and Jo were sitting across from him. "And I'm like 'Why? Do you like him or something?'" he heard her say to her dark-haired companion. "And she's like 'Well, do you think he likes me?' I said, 'How would I know? You wanna find out, ask some of his friends or something. I don't know.'"

Jo flipped her wavy hair and replied. "Well, you know, Zoe's really shy. It probably took a lot of courage just for her to ask you."

"I know, and I hope for her sake, he does…because she seemed to be, like, totally obsessed with him."

"Well, maybe it would help if she put some thought into what she wore. I mean, she doesn't even try to look her best," said Jo. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I talked to that witch Velma Franklin today!"

Francesca squealed.

"I just walked up to her and I said 'You know Josh, that really cute guy you like? Well, he touched my ass today in the hall, so I don't think you two would make it.' He really did it by accident, but…she doesn't have to know that."

"Serves her right," Francesca said with finality.

"Yeah."

"Ooh!" Francesca squealed again as a sudden thought occurred to her. "I heard Andrew say I had cool boobs!" she reported, looking as if she'd just won _American Idol_.

"O-kay. Not exactly the sweetest thing to say, but at least you know you're in good standing with him!"

"I know!" Francesca said excitedly.

"You think he'll break up with Danielle and go with you?"

"I don't know. Cross your fingers."

"I will. I think Danielle's getting a little chunky, anyway."

"She probably sleeps around, too."

Grace, obviously very satisfied with herself. "I know," she said. "I…uh…wrote something to that effect on the bathroom wall yesterday."

Francesca squealed for the third time. "You're bad!" she giggled.

Ben shook his head, dumbfounded. He had heard enough. This vengeful, judgmental, superficial, and sometimes downright arrogant girl still called herself Francesca Mánquez? He knew adolescence was a time of change and finding oneself, but what the process led to was supposed to be an improvement. Whatever was going on with Francesca just wasn't quite right.

He pulled out his portable CD player, which already contained a Michelle Branch album, put on the headphones, and filled his ears with the sounds of "All You Wanted." Michelle Branch kept him occupied all the way home.


	3. Chapter 3: A Bespectacled Hercules

**Chapter 3**

Ben entered the moderately elegant Kent home contentedly. For him, home really was where the heart was. Across from the front door, an L-shaped staircase that led up and to the left. The living room was open to the second floor, and the second floor hallway rested above the kitchen and dining room, bordered by a wall of pillared railing. To his right was a cozy arrangement of two couches around a fireplace. To the right of this fireplace was a door to the office, and to its left was the entrance to the first floor hallway. To his left, in the corner between the front door and a door to the garage, an artificial fir tree stood ten feet tall, with false snow gently laying on its deep green branches, a colorful assortment of ornaments dangling from their ends, and a golden star crowning the tree. The dining room, with its three French windows and chandelier hanging over the octagonal table, was the object of many compliments given by guests.

From inside the kitchen, Ben heard the phone ring. He smiled to himself. _Right on time_, he thought to himself as he ambled into the kitchen and picked up the receiver. "Hi, Mom," he said.

In the opposite corner of Kansas, Lois Kent greeted her son. She was a slightly petite woman with dark brown hair and clever brown eyes, perhaps the only two visible traits Ben had inherited from his mother. She was dressed in a navy blue business suit and was walking down the hall of a tall office building. "How'd you know it was me?" she asked into her cell phone.

"You've been gone for four days, and you've called at the same time on each of the four," Ben grinned, teasing his mother about her predictability.

He could almost feel Lois' warm smile from the other end. "Well, can you blame me? Not every mother leaves her son home alone for a week! And close to Christmas, too. The least I can do is check up on you so I don't feel like I'm neglecting you."

"Mom," he reassured her for the hundredth time since she had left to do an extended interview with an up and coming entrepreneur with some innovative ideas, "it's fine. Small price to pay for my mom being the Kansan Barbara Walters. In fact, I take it as a complement to my independence and responsibility. It's been a week, and the house is still in one piece. Do you know how few parents can trust their teenage sons alone in the house for that length of time?"

Lois sighed. "I'm glad. I don't want you to feel like you're not important to me or anything. Believe me, I'd much rather be spending time with my kids. So would your father."

"How's Dad's investigation going?"

"He called just a few minutes ago and told me it was going quite well. He got a lot of good information today. I think his article should go out in Monday's edition of the _Daily Planet_."

Ben's father, a mild-mannered but experienced investigative reporter, had boarded a plane to New York City mere hours after his mother was scheduled to depart for her own week-long investigative excursion. The senior Kent had been sent to do a report on the plans for the 9/11 monument. Ben was actually enjoying his little taste of independence, pleased that his parents felt comfortable leaving the house to him for seven or eight days. For one golden week, the junior Kent was master of the Kent domain, including his ten-year-old twin sisters, Samantha and Nicole. Sam and Nikki, as they were habitually called, were likely approaching home at that very moment. Ben looked out the front window to make sure the bus from Metropolis Elementary hadn't pulled up before the house yet. It hadn't, so he continued the discussion with his mom.

"You know, Mom?" he began, "Not that I'm complaining, but I still don't quite understand why both you and Dad were offered TV anchor positions, but Dad turned it down. I mean, you two were the star reporting team at the _Planet_. Heck, when you two got married, from what I'm told, it was a very public affair. People thought the match was made in heaven, and a lot of them were disappointed when you became an anchor and he didn't. Wasn't it something about it just not being Dad's style or something?"

"Yeah, that was part of it," Lois said. "I don't think your dad was cut out to do his job on TV. He was qualified, certainly, but he didn't really seem to flourish behind a camera." She paused. "Another reason, I think, is that he wanted time to write his novels. You know, he's already been asked to do a few local book signings."

"Yeah, I heard," Ben nodded.

"Anyway, what about you? How'd your presentation go in biology?"

Ben contemplated whether or not he should tell her about the strange visual incidents, but decided against it. Nothing harmful had happened, and Lois didn't need any unnecessary worries. "It went...fine," he answered. "A little awkward at the beginning, but okay."

"I figured as much," Lois said, pride sounding in her voice.

Ben heard the distant roar of a school bus engine. "The twins are here," he reported. "Shall we talk tomorrow?"

"Sounds good. Give Sam and Nikki my love for me."

"Will do. Bye."

"Bye."

He hung up. Through the window he could see two identical girls stepping out of the bus. He opened the door and gestured them inside with a welcoming smile on his face. The bus drove off, and the twins hurried inside and shed their thick coats, scarves, and hats.

Samantha Michelle and Nicole Jane Kent were confident and cheerful girls with bright blue eyes and long black hair. Samantha, dressed in pink pants and a white peasant shirt, was the first to speak. "We don't have any homework," she reported.

Ben looked at Nicole, who wore a red Abercrombie T-shirt and blue jeans, and she nodded. "Then it was a good day for all of us," Ben remarked, "because I don't have any either."

Nicole looked up at her brother. "When are Mom and Dad getting home again?" she asked.

"Dad'll be home on Saturday, and Mom'll be home Sunday," Ben said from memory. "Mom sends her love, and I'm sure Dad does too."

"Okay," Nikki said. "I'm going to go watch TV," she said, heading up the stairs, doubling around the railing, and soon disappearing behind the solidly walled portion of the upstairs hallway that led to the family room. Sam followed her, and Ben came slowly behind, pausing at the top of the stairs.

To his right was a door that had always been a point of oddity in the Kent family. The only truly weird thing about his family, Ben thought, was whatever room was behind that door. He and the twins had nicknamed it the Forbidden Room. In fourteen years of life, he had caught either one of his parents going in and out of it rarely, though he was suspicious that the mysterious door opened and closed more often than he was let to see. When not in use, it was forever locked, and his parents always discouraged their children's curiosity. It seemed almost as important that the kids never know what was behind that door as it was for Ben to keep his glasses on. In fact, about four years before Ben had remarked to his parents that they acted as if the room contained proof that Santa Claus, in whom the twins had still been believers, didn't exist. Ben shrugged, thinking to himself that they would probably tell him, and eventually the twins, what the big secret was in due time.

Then, a thought struck him. He recalled Gary's supposedly mocking inquiry as to whether or not Ben had been working out, as well as the unexpected discussion with Ms. Jeuno. Two people had at least hinted that they thought he was showing unusual muscular growth.

He stepped into the closest of the second floor's two bathrooms (excluding his parents' master bathroom) and closed the door. Facing the mirror above the sink, he looked at his torso with a discerning eye. To his surprise, he did indeed seem to be filling his shirt much better than he remembered. He looked at his arms, and his eyes widened. The muscle tone was indeed impressive. Looking at his reflection as a whole for a moment, he swallowed and took off his short-sleeved flannel shirt.

What this action revealed caused him to take a step back in shock. While he didn't look like a body builder, whom he often referred to as "anabolically overdone," even the word "athletic" didn't quite do justice to what he saw.

Ben was suddenly put in mind of his father's solid stature. The elder Kent always seemed to maintain a very fit and firm yet well-proportioned musculature. In fact, his father was perhaps the most well-built man he knew.

He found himself wondering if that type of build was on a chromosome somewhere, because his remarkable resemblance to his dad was no longer limited to his face. He felt his pectorals, to make sure the mirror wasn't deceiving him. His fingers were greeted with the same firmness he knew his father had. His abdomen was equally as fortified. His arms looked sleek yet powerful.

He rolled up the leg of his jeans to reveal that at least his right calf exhibited the same qualities as his arms did. _Well, at least this might explain why I could run so fast_, he mused.

But genetic or not, Ms. Jeuno was right. To develop such a musculature in a mere two months was not natural. Ben realized his dad had probably worked out for a few years to obtain the physique he had, though how he maintained it was still a mystery.

"What the hell?" he said aloud to himself. "How did I not notice this before?" He flexed his arm. "I look like some kind of Hercules!"

Another thought then struck him. Assuming that the strength afforded him by this mysterious brawn was distributed equally, and considering that the muscles in his legs held enough power to propel him at superhuman speed as he had experienced on his way to health class, his arms and other parts of his body must be equally as strong.

Deciding to kill two birds with one stone and test his speed again first, he took off as fast as he could towards the garage. Seemingly as soon as he had finished his first step, he was there, standing behind his mother's red Cavalier and his father's station wagon. He breathed heavily, not from effort but from bewilderment.

Then he stepped towards the station wagon. Slowly, half-afraid of what his experiment would tell him, he took a firm hold of the underside of the rear fender. Bracing himself, he brought his hand up.

The car tilted straight up with little resistance. Ben couldn't believe what all his senses and nerves seemed to be telling him. He, Ben Kent, had just lifted an automobile! This would've been enough to leave him stunned, but he quickly realized something else. Not a bead of sweat appeared anywhere on his skin. No trace of soreness touched his arm. He felt no strain, largely because there was none! Ben's eyes told him he was lifting something that probably weighed a few tons, yet it only felt like twenty pounds!

His eyes wide, scientifically-minded Ben tried yet another experiment to make sure his results were accurate. He lifted the end of the car again, turned to his side and placed his left hand behind his right on the underside of the car. Keeping his hands an equal distance from each other, he shifted slowly towards the center of the car, moving his feet first and his hands last. In a few moments, the car was level again, but Ben was holding it above his head with stunning ease! Though his knees and elbows were bent to accommodate the added height of the top of the car, he knew he could've stood straight up and still not feel any strain or significant effort.

For an instant, he almost dropped the car as another spell of see-through vision hit him. The garage wall became transparent, and he could see the yard and cars going by on the road outside. Ben blinked to restore normal vision. He then slowly worked his way out from under the car and set it back down as gently as he could. It landed with a relatively soft thud.

Ben looked at his hands in awe, flipping them over repeatedly. No bruises, no redness, no cuts had been left to testify to the feat he had just performed. Suddenly, a fast-growing grin replaced his look of bewilderment. At that moment, he didn't care why or how he was able to do these amazing actions. All that mattered was that he could, and he loved it!

Ben whooped out loud. He super-sped back to his bedroom. It was a cozy one with a long twin bed, a sizeable bookcase, and a spacious desk. His navy blue bedspread was well laid. A boom box sat on the nightstand to the right of the bed, and a multitude of floppy discs and homemade CDs lay on his desk. Looking around, he pulled his old soccer ball out from underneath his bed, stepped out into the hallway, and dropped the ball over the railing. The moment the ball left his hands, he sped downstairs...and caught the ball on its way down!

Ben grinned once again, this time in awe. He still had no idea why he had this astronomical speed and strength, but that evening, he didn't care! He was realizing all the possibilities these abilities could open up to him! He sped back into his bedroom and did another experiment to see how fast he could do something besides run. He rummaged through his wide closet and found his best suit, which was deep blue with a red necktie. He changed into it as fast as he could, and realized that he looked ready to go to a formal occasion in a mere three seconds! He could cut the time it took him to get ready or school in the morning and sleep in later! If he missed the bus home because of Fangler, he could run home and get there sooner than the bus would have anyway! His grin growing wider, he changed back into his usual denim and plaid with equal speed.

And the strength! Ben would no longer have to put up with the Fangster. There was indeed some apprehension in Gary's "You been working out?" Ben laughed out loud to himself. Fangler was scared of him! He relished the thought.

"What's so funny? We're the ones watching cartoons!" he heard one of the twins call from the family room.

"Nothing," Ben called back, still smiling. But it was far from nothing. He entertained several thoughts that he knew his lack of vengefulness would ultimately prevent, but nonetheless loved knowing that they were all possible.

One thing was certain. Ben's life was about to change, and the prospects were very good!

At that moment, it seemed that tomorrow couldn't come soon enough. Ben settled into his bedroom, put the "Shrek" soundtrack into his boom box, and danced jovially to Smash Mouth's rendition of "I'm a Believer."

Little did he know that Sam and Nikki had come out to raid the refrigerator downstairs and had stopped to watch Ben dance. As he obliviously strummed his air guitar, the girls stared at him quizzically.

"Why did he forget to close the door this time?" Nikki asked.

"I dunno," Sam shrugged.

They looked around his room, looking for anything else out of the ordinary. They found nothing.

"So do you think this is a boy thing or a teenager thing?" Sam asked Nikki, not taking her eyes off her older brother.

Nikki paused and looked at Ben with an analytical eye. "I think it's both," she replied.


	4. Chapter 4: The Punching Bag's Revenge

**Chapter 4**

The overwhelming murmur of up to a couple hundred teenage voices filled the large cafeteria like a thick fog. Over two dozen rectangular tables were all densely occupied by half-eaten lunches and talkative cliques. Near the west entrance sat the misfits, stocky boys with small glasses, greasy hair, and beards, petite girls with ratty hair and dark lip gloss. Not far from them were the goths, similar in physique to the misfits but clothed mostly in black with chains and chokers. In the row ahead of them were the honors students, a group with no reliable physical distinction that nevertheless gathered to converse on slightly more intellectual topics than the others. At the far end, close to the adjacent entrance and exit to the four main lunch counters, were the athletes, clothed in team jackets and discussing girlfriend problems or what the best play was to use in the next football game. Between the athletic tables and the honors lay the high school hierarchy's extensive middle class, comprised of students who didn't really fit into any other group but managed to fracture into dozens of small groups based on obscure common interests or companionship. Between each distinct group was a transitive group whose constituents' blended characterizations eased the flow from one clique to another.

A row of square pillars split the cafeteria in half, and at the far end where students flowed in and out of the lunch counters, the Metropolis High alma mater and a banner saying "Go Lions!" loomed over the only two doors in the wall that separated the counters and kitchen from the cafeteria itself. Through the windows, a fresh snow could be seen falling gracefully to the already blanketed campus grounds.

Near the border between the honors territory and the middle class sat Ben Kent. He was contentedly finishing his fried chicken sandwich, mashed potatoes, roll, and apple. Yet he felt different. He had woken up that morning pleased to find that his mysterious strength and speed were still there, but the happiness of last night had dissipated. He couldn't deny that his abilities would certainly be an advantage, but the "why" and the "how" of the situation still eluded him, and that had never truly ceased to vex him. He looked around, silently musing that most of his peers were probably concerned about the exams they had just taken. That day was the first of two days in which four midterm exams were given, lunch was served at twenty minutes after noon, then school was dismissed at one o'clock instead of the usual four o'clock. Which exams one took depended on which subject one had when. The first midterm exam day, students would take exams in their first, second, third, and fourth period classes, whatever they were for each individual. The second day would host exams for periods five through eight.

But midterms were the least of Ben's worries. In fact, he was grateful for his own preparedness and confidence, because he had bigger things to think about. He had concluded during the course of his meal that significant changes had to be occurring in his physiology. He reasoned that some mysterious and perhaps mutant hormone or group of hormones, perhaps triggered by the progression of normal puberty, was altering the structure of his muscle tissue and eyes. Ben mentally shuddered at the thought that he was some kind of mutant. It was a startling idea, but so far the only reasonable explanation for his awesome strength and speed, and the unusually rapid development thereof.

Fortunately, the flashes of see-through vision were becoming less frequent, and Ben wondered if they would eventually disappear entirely. Then again, he wasn't exactly sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. No matter how weird, it could come in handy sometimes, especially if he could learn to control it. Ben finally sighed in exasperation. He stood up, picked up his blue tray, and ambled towards the row of square green garbage containers next to the pillars.

Out of nowhere, his toes met an obstacle, and he pitched forward, his face landing squarely in the remainder of his mashed potatoes. Gary Fangler's cackle greeted his ears, and before he could react, two athletic arms were pulling him up. He thought they were Gary's, until he found himself standing face to face with the Fangster. Looking to either side, he found two burly boys who were at least juniors pinning his arms back. He almost moved to release himself, but smiled inwardly and decided to first give them a very false sense of security.

Gary sneered. "Okay, so you got me," began in mock surrender. "Dean Dafuntho finally got around to giving me more detention because he finally got around to your petty complaint."

"I'd hardly consider years of bullying petty," Ben said calmly. He nodded to either side at the backup Gary had obviously enlisted. "What's up with Crabbe and Goyle here?" he added nonchalantly.

"What is that, like, some kind of Shakespeare reference?" Gary asked indignantly.

"J. K. Rowling," Ben corrected. "But I guess _Harry Potter_ is a little too advanced for you."

"My, we're brave today," he observed coolly, squirming slightly.

Ben noticed Gary's brief moment of unmasked disquietude and smiled. "You're scared of me, aren't you?"

The Fangster let out a raucous laugh. By now, most eyes in the cafeteria were on Ben, Gary, and his two right-hand men.

Ben continued, relishing the new position he held in this encounter. "I'm showing a little brawn, and now you can't face me alone." Once again, he momentarily didn't care about the origins of his new and immense fortitude.

"Don't flatter yourself, Kent," Fangler replied.

"Oh, for God's sakes, Gary," Francesca spoke up suddenly. She paused, trying to keep her cool. "You just got out of juvy hall. How many times are you going to beat someone up or spray-paint the walls before you get it through your thick skull that it's best to just leave people alone." She spoke slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. Ben's gaze met hers for a split second, and he could've sworn he saw that familiar flicker of concern in her eyes.

"Shut up, bit-"

"Don't say it," Ben cut him off with astonishing and commanding sternness. Francesca may have cast him aside and become a seemingly shallow and self-centered creature, but Ben knew all too well that even as she was now, she just didn't deserve so harsh a label. He realized that the desire to be popular is only human, despite the negative effects such a desire can have on a person's character.

Ben momentarily wondered why he was so forgiving, but Gary's voice brought his attention back to his surroundings. The Fangster sneered. "What're you gonna do about it?"

"_Te advierto_," Ben answered, knowing that an incomprehensible response would only annoy his nemesis.

"Cut the crap, Kent. You know I don't understand French," Gary responded, drawing nearer menacingly.

Ben scoffed. "It's Spanish, Fangler. Not that it matters. You barely understand English."

For a split second, Ben Kent felt fear again as he saw Gary's fist making a beeline for his face. Before he knew what had happened, he had been punched. Hard. But the only way he knew how forceful the strike had been was by the sheer speed with which it was executed. To his astonishment, he felt only a momentary pressure on his nose and upper lip! He felt hardly any pain at all! In fact, the power behind that punch had failed to make his head move at all!

Gary, on the other hand, seemed to be feeling all the pain Ben should've felt…and then some. His face was a gruesome blend of anger, shock, and extreme pain. He let out a terrible cry almost too high-pitched for a male voice. His face red, his eyes bulging, he bit down on his knuckles and let out a loud sound that resembled a cross between a groan and a shriek.

Ben recovered from his shock quickly and decided that now was as good a time as any. He released himself from the hold of Fangler's two goons, took each of their collars in one hand, lifted them both off their feet, and, seeing that he was conveniently only about eight or nine feet away from the green garbage bins, sent them flying with their arms and legs flailing only to land with each of their rear ends lodged deep in a bin. For all the strength such a feat would've required, Ben used only a fraction of his full muscular power, not wanting to send them crashing through the cafeteria walls as he somehow knew they would if he even approached his potential. Bewildered, Fangler's two bodyguards hardly moved.

Ben then turned to Fangler himself and wiped the mashed potatoes off his face. He picked Gary up by the collar, carried him over to the nearest wall, and pinned him to the brick surface. The Fangster's face was still red, but there were two new elements to his expression: surprise and fear.

"It's over, Fangler," he said. "Your punching bag has learned to fight back, so I'd strongly recommend steering clear of it."

Not even hearing the murmurs that had by then erupted throughout the cafeteria, Ben let Gary drop back to his feat, gave him a final glare, turned, and walked away. As he approached the door, Dean Dafuntho rushed in, walkie-talkie in hand. He was a tall and surly man with thinning brown hair and a dark moustache. "What happened here?" he demanded.

"Nothing, sir," Ben said coolly. "It's been resolved."

"You freak!" Gary shouted hysterically. "You broke my hand!"

"Kent, what happened?" Dafuntho asked again.

Gary's bodyguards finally climbed out of the garbage bins. "He threw us, like, ten feet!" one said. "We landed in the garbage bins!"

"How could he throw two of you that distance? You each weigh probably close to 200 pounds," the dean rebuffed.

"I don't know, but he did," the other bodyguard insisted.

The dean shook his head, perplexed.

"He's a freak!" Gary yelled again. "I punched him in the face, and it was like steel! My hand is broken!"

Ben half-smiled and shook his head in awe of Gary's frazzled state and stupidity. He had just admitted to an act of violence in the very attempt to convict his would-be victim.

"Fangler, didn't we just have a long talk about this?" Dafuntho said sternly. The disciplinarian looked around at the students filling the cafeteria, most of whom suddenly seemed fascinated by their food. Turning back to Gary, he continued. "You can't afford to keep this up. The state government's agreed to increase our funding for disciplinary staff. You won't be waiting around for weeks after vandalizing or bullying for that overdue detention any more."

Gary was looking desperate now. "But…" he began, opening his mouth to try again but thinking better of it. He finally gave up, knowing that his word against Ben Kent's was no contest. He took a parting strike at his former punching bag involving a certain word beginning with "f" and sighed in resignation.

Dean Dafuntho nodded in satisfaction at this and returned to Ben. "I don't believe you packed a single punch in this, Kent. You're too smart for it. But just in case you did, I'm going to give you a warning. Don't go anywhere near the path that Fangler's so stubbornly determined to follow. You will regret it."

"Thank you, sir," Ben replied diplomatically.

"Gary, my office, now. You two also."

Gary growled at Ben as he followed the dean, and his two thugs followed their solicitor nervously, obviously inexperienced in being of Fangler's creed.

The dismissal bell rang, and the entire school slowly packed their belongings and began filing out. Ben stood unmoving as the crowd flowed past him. One thing Gary had said had struck him. His skin was like steel. Were his muscles so dense that they not only strengthened but also heavily fortified his entire body? Ben decided then and there that he had to find out what was happening to him, because he hardly felt human anymore.

He noticed Francesca approaching him, trying to avoid eye contact as Jo and Grace followed beside her, stealing furtive stares at the new Ben Kent, whispering to each other, and occasionally giggling. But as she passed, she dared to let her eyes meet his. She was hiding her concerned and quizzical sentiments poorly, and Ben wasn't sure if he was comfortable at all with the look she had briefly given him.


	5. Chapter 5: Cryptic Call & Francesca

**Chapter 5**

Ben's mind kept him occupied all the way from the cafeteria to his locker. He lost all track of time, putting his cap, scarf, gloves, and jacket on even more robotically than the previous day. He absentmindedly trudged through the snow to his bus, climbed into it, and found a seat, this time closer to the front.

All the way home, Ben was facing a growing realization that his life would never quite be the same. While his outward appearance remained much the same (with the exception of his improved physique), he could sense a change in his character. Some of his teenage awkwardness and inexperience was gone, and he felt slightly wiser and more experienced than almost all of his peers.

But his concentration mainly focused on the pressing question of why and how he had developed these mysterious abilities. The only reasonable explanation he could come up with was that a crucial base pair in his genome had mutated. Whether it had just recently mutated or it had always been mutant and just needed puberty to trigger its effects, he couldn't tell. What troubled him was that he knew that minor errors occurred all the time in the natural course of human genetics, yet the planet wasn't crawling with people who had strange talents. For whatever reason, the error in his DNA had affected a genetic clincher with far-reaching effects.

These thoughts followed Ben into the Kent house and into his bedroom. He collapsed on his bed and let out a heavy sigh. His previously ordered life was turning into a sci-fi movie, and he still wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it.

But his thoughts were interrupted by the ring of the telephone. Ben got up and, deciding for the moment to accustom himself to his unusual gifts, super-sped to the telephone in the living room "Hi, Mom," he said.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but this is your father speaking," joked a male voice.

"Dad!" Ben said, surprised. "Hi! How's it going in New York?"

"It's going fine. I've got a lot of good information, and I might even be able to book an earlier flight home if things keep going the way they are."  
"Great!" the junior Kent replied. "Listen," he added with a grin, "Mom's been calling every day as soon as she knows I'll be home to check up on me. She's probably trying to call right now. If she finds out who's holdin' up the lines, she may kill you."

The elder Kent laughed. "No. I cleared this with your mother. I figured it's my turn to check up on my son this time."

"Well, I'm here to tell you, just as I've told Mom three times, that everything's fine," Ben said with a smile, once again relishing the fact that his parents trusted him enough to leave him in charge for a week and finding humor in their precautious check-ups.

"How're Sam and Nikki?"

"They're just as energetic as ever," Ben answered. "They pretty much finished off the EasyMac last night."

"I swear, they're going to turn into two EasyMac noodles," his father chuckled.

"Yeah. They'd live on it, if we let 'em."

Gradually, the senior Kent's chuckles dwindled, and he grew serious. "Listen, Ben, when I get home, there's something you and I need to talk about."  
"Why? Is something going on?" Ben asked, slightly concerned at his father's tone.

"No. It's nothing bad or anything. This is just something that I've been putting off for a while now, and...I think you should be let in on this."

Ben snickered. "You gonna tell me what the heck's behind that door you and Mom are always so secretive about?" he joked, but his jest was greeted with a pause. "Dad?" he said, his smile shrinking.

"As a matter of fact,...I am."

Ben was flabbergasted. "Really?" he blurted. "Oh, man." Suddenly, he was apprehensive. "Why can't you just tell me over the phone?"

"This is something I think is best told in person."

"Ooh-kay," Ben said, puzzled, his apprehension growing.

His father must have sensed this. "Don't worry. It's nothing dark or tragic or anything. It's actually a good thing. It's just not exactly something we can parade on a bumper sticker."

"I see," said Ben, somehow reasoning that what his dad had just described likely had something to do with finances. It was a very uninformed conclusion, but it was the first thing that came to mind with the information he had been given.

"Uh-oh!" said the elder Kent from the other end.

"What?" asked the younger Kent.

"Listen, son, I gotta go," the father answered with mysterious urgency. "Say 'Hi' to the girls for me, okay?"

"Alright, Dad," the son replied, wondering what was so urgent. "Bye."

"Bye."

Ben hung up. "Hmm," he said to himself, slightly perplexed. "This is definitely the weirdest week I've ever had."

He looked at the clock. Sam and Nikki wouldn't be home for two hours. He let himself fall back on the couch and, using the remote control he found on the coffee table, turned on the TV. For an hour and a half, he wandered through the channels, pausing to watch a young woman tearfully tell her boyfriend that one of their kids wasn't his on _Montel_ or to see a butterfly emerge from a cocoon on the Discovery channel. No matter what he watched, however, his mind was only half in the present. The other half remained devoted to exploring possible explanations for his unusual talents. There were so many questions and absolutely no definite answers, and this troubled him.

Finally, Ben turned off the television and idly decided to step outside and perhaps see how far he could run at his superhuman speed. He put on his jacket, gloves, and cap and stepped into the front patio. He looked around the cozy but densely populated residential area. The sunlight danced on the quilt of snow that covered the yards. In front of the house across the street, Ben saw the snowman that the inhabitant family built every year, once again clothed in its traditional bowler hat, purple mittens, and red scarf. Ben scanned his view, spotting a few chimneys that spewed smoke into the air. Then, his gaze fell on the Mánquez home. It was a large house built whose exterior was made of pale green siding and whose interior walls were made of beige plaster. There was an extra first-floor wing extending from the right side, a gable on each end as well as two secondary gables facing the street and an inset porch and balcony in the front. Several cars rested on the street in front of it, and Ben could see through the windows that a gathering was taking place there.

Curious, he arrived there in one second. He was greeted by a loud, collective cheer that burst from the open front door. Curiosity still driving him, he stepped up into the porch and paused in the doorway. Through the door and the pillars supporting part of the upstairs hallway that separated the entry hall from the living room, he could see that an informal party was taking place. A football soared back and forth, between two tall and lanky boys, above the two couches arranged perpendicular to each other against the left living room wall. One of the boys, who stood between the pillars and the back of one of the couches, was dressed in baggy, greasy-blue jeans and a Metallica T-shirt, the other, who stood at the far end of the room in front of the fireplace, wore a pair of loose-fitting khakis and a white muscle shirt. Three other boys and two girls were slouching on the couch against the wall holding and slugging bottles of Michelob beer.

A girl in a sky blue tank top with curly brown hair passed Ben. "C'mon in," she said, pulling him in by the arm before he could protest. "Francesca's in the kitchen, if you want to talk to her," she said in what Ben was pretty sure was a drunken slur. He stepped through the pillars and out from under the railed upstairs hallway. He turned around and looked upwards to find a group of girls leaning over the railing, half-drunk beer in hand. A big-boned girl in a white peasant top and faded jeans, who appeared to be the ringleader for the time being, was bragging to the others that her considerable bust was natural.

He passed into the kitchen, where he found Francesca, in a pale pink halter top and low-rise black Capri pants, surrounded by Jo, Grace, Jim, and a few other of her friends. A very obviously drunken Grace giggled raucously and leaned on Francesca's shoulder, saying, "Word to the wise, though. Don't go to 'buy-an-A-dot-com' for papers. I paid twenty bucks for my paper about Hamlet there, and I got a D. Like I needed that! I already have a 'D' English!"

"That's why I don't buy papers," Francesca replied. "Not all of those services are reliable. It's easier to write my own and just see what I get."

Ben scoffed. _Still got a conscience, I see_, he mused bitterly, _but so embarrassed by it that you make up another reason why you don't do something so blatantly wrong_.

"That's easy for you to say, 'cause you're smart. You're an honors student," Grace slurred, sweat lubricating her wavy blonde hair. She suddenly grew very pale. She swallowed and seemed to be trying to discreetly seal her mouth closed. After a few moments of this, she suddenly turned around, pushed Francesca out of the way, and vomited into the sink. Ben cringed in disgust.

"Oh, honey," Francesca cooed, rubbing her friend's shoulder. "It's okay. I'll clean it up. Maybe you should lay off the drinks."

_No crap_, Ben thought sarcastically. _There's this thing called 'sobriety.' You should really try it_.

"Hey, Francesca!" a male voice called from the living room.

Francesca worked her way through the kitchen crowd, which itself began migrating into the living room. She even bumped into Ben briefly and didn't notice him. "Hey what?" she responded with a grin to the boy who had called.

"Let's hear the hostess do some karaoke!" he said, shouting the last word as if at a pep rally.

A round of loud "Yeahs" answered his call, and Francesca complied. Taking the microphone from the karaoke/stereo against the wall between the living room and kitchen, she mounted the coffee table as Jo eagerly assumed a position at the controls.

"What should I sing?" Francesca asked.

"How 'bout something by Christina Aguilera?" one girl suggested. "You do her so well."

"Christina Aguilera?" Francesca queried the rest. Several nods and shouts of agreement ensued, and Jo promptly put in the nearest Christina Aguilera karaoke tape.

Ben sighed resignedly as the loud intro to Christina Aguilera's "Dirty" almost seemed to shake the walls as Francesca began to sing. Ben watched, a tragic look of regret on his face, as she sang, her eyes almost closed in a far too sultry expression. She danced in place on the coffee table, and Ben wondered if it would give away. Every chorus, Francesca would raise her voice and bob her head around in exaggerated motions, sending her hair flying in all directions. Then she would pause, her dark eye make-up and disheveled hair combining with her erotic expression to make Ben shake his head in disturbed awe. To Ben, she was a distorted shadow of her former self, her true self. He had heard her sing many times throughout their long friendship, and it was a beautiful sound. He remembered the rendition of Myra's "Miracles Happen" she had performed in a school talent show a few years ago. She had stood in the center of the stage in a flowing lime green gown, her blonde hair framing her face and neck gently, and sung in a sweet yet mature voice all her own. He watched her now and thought with disgust that, just as the clothes and makeup she wore clouded rather than ameliorated her inherent beauty, so did this song and any song like it even more severely distort her vocal brilliance. This type of music went further than simply not doing justice to her voice. It did her singing a tragic injustice. It was a waste.

The song ended, and a round of applause followed, Ben being the only one present who didn't clap, whistle, or shout.

Francesca stepped down, grinning and laughing. "You rock!" a rather athletic boy with beach blonde hair greeted her.

"Thanks, Dan," Francesca replied.

"Hey, listen, that was quite a performance. Are you thirsty or anything? Can I get you anything?"

Francesca paused in thought. "Actually, yeah," she answered. "There's some Gatorade in the fridge."

Dan snapped his fingers. "Gotcha."

Francesca collapsed onto the couch facing the fireplace, breathing heavily. Ben approached her, but before she saw him, he stopped. He looked at her forebodingly. He knew she wasn't as happy as she had obviously convinced even herself she was, but he also realized that probably nothing he said would make her realize that. Not wanting to let go but knowing it would do no good to hang on, he began to back away and finally turned to leave.

He only got a few steps before the ocular muscle moved again, and the wall that isolated the kitchen became transparent. Ben almost rubbed his temples, but he noticed Dan standing over the counter with a bottle of Gatorade in front of him. He looked from the Gatorade to the direction of the living room and back and finally pulled a tiny plastic bag of white capsules from his pocket. Shoulders hunched, he dropped a capsule into the Gatorade, replaced the lid, and watched it dissolve. Satisfied, he put the bag back in his pocket, picked up the drink, and strutted towards the living room. Ben blinked, and his vision returned to normal just as Dan emerged from the kitchen. Ben eyed him as he approached Francesca and offered her the Gatorade. She thanked him and took it with a chuckle.

Not pausing to think, he sped over, knocked the bottle out of Francesca's hands, spun around, and pinned Dan to the wall.

"Ben! What are you doing?" Francesca shouted. "Get out of here! I didn't invite you in the first place!"

"Only if he goes, too," Ben said firmly. "He tried to slip you a ruphie."

Dan's eyes widened briefly, but he regained his composure. "No, I didn't!" he denied.

"What is up with you lately?" Francesca asked, her voice slightly softer. "Let him go."

Ben released his hold on Dan with a jerk. "You may be able to fool her," he said so only he could hear, "But I saw what you did. Don't you ever try that again. I mean it."

"Are you threatening me?" Dan challenged him.

"No," Ben said, calmly but with no less command in his voice. "I'm warning you."

"Ben..." Francesca began, puzzled and annoyed. "What is going on? How could you know Dan was going to drug me?"

Ben looked downward, realizing much to his dismay that he just couldn't disclose how he had seen what he had seen.

"He's stalking you," said a voice from the crowd.

Ben looked for the source, and found it stepping out to face him. It was Jim Veston, the stocky boy with heavily gelled brown hair and gray eyes. "You two aren't friends anymore, and he can't stand it," he said, daring Ben to rebuff. "Get over it, man."

Francesca looked at him as if asking if it was true. Ben rolled his eyes bitterly. "Whatever, Jim." He stepped closer to Francesca. "Look," he began, unsure of what he really wanted to say, "it's not my business what you do with your life, but I can't just stand by and watch somebody hurt you...or anyone else. Not just you," he stated carefully. "I know what I saw. If you would've drunk that Gatorade, God knows what he would've done to you. I've heard too many horror stories about this sort of thing, and I know you have too."

Francesca looked at him, a hint of belief showing in her brown eyes. She didn't speak.

"I'm finished. Just...be careful...please." Giving her one last glare to let her know how serious he was, Ben exited via the sliding glass doors besides the fireplace that led out to the back porch. He stepped down three stone steps and onto the grassy yard. He didn't get very far before Dan's hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

"You've crossed a line, Kent," he said, his eyes gleaming with anger. Dan took what would've been a very damaging punch at Ben's stomach, but once again, Ben felt only momentary pressure on his abdomen, and Dan's fist as well as his whole body seemed to buckle with the impact.

Dan's face reddened in pain and anger, and he swung at Ben's head. Moving at superhuman speed, Ben ducked, but almost as quickly, he found a switchblade flying towards his right upper arm.

For a fraction of a second, Ben flinched in anticipation of pain. But he felt only a sharp prick and witnessed the handle come crashing down on his skin as the blade shattered into over a dozen pieces!

The fury on Dan's face turned to an expression of frustration and, more importantly, horror. He stepped back and dropped the bladeless handle. "What the hell are you?" he squeaked.

Ben looked at him from under his eyebrows, determination shining in his eyes. "I don't know," he said nonchalantly. "Whatever I am, I'm nothing like you."  
Dan looked at his adversary, wanting to tear him apart, knowing he couldn't, and wondering why he couldn't. His anger mixed with fear, and he began sweating profusely.

Ben regarded him with a sentencing eye. "Leave," he commanded simply.

Dan swallowed, stared for a moment, then complied, turning and jogging away.

Ben watched him until he was out of sight. He then sighed heavily and officially added seeming invincibility to his list of unexplained abilities.

"What the hell is up with you?"

Ben turned to see a very agitated Francesca staring at him. She shook her head in awe. "What is your problem?" she asked sharply.

"I'm not the one with the problem," Ben said, growing fed up with Francesca's indifference and obliviousness to what she was doing to herself.

"Oh, and I am?" she snapped.

"I'd say so," he retorted. "Have you looked at yourself, I mean really looked at yourself, in the last three years?"

"What are you talking about?" she said indignantly, placing an irritated hand on her hip.

Ben fumbled for the right words. He finally blurted, "He tried to drug you! You could've gotten taken advantage of or even killed! He was carrying a switchblade! Stay clear of him, please, Francesca!"

"Alright, fine! Dan tried to drug me! He had a knife! Thanks for saving me!" she yelled. "My hero," she added with biting sarcasm and a roll of her eyes.

"What happened to you, Francesca?" Ben asked, his anger quickly giving away to a kind of puzzled sorrow. "There was a day when you would've strongly advised Grace to write her own papers. You would've pushed her to not cheat! Now, you just shrug it off because you're afraid of losing a friend or something!"

"That's her problem, not mine."

"Yeah, but you actually encouraged her to cheat, in a way. You as much as said that the only reason you yourself don't do it is that it's just more efficient and reliable for you to write them yourself. You never used to be like that!" His anger came back. "You didn't do it because it was wrong, pure and simple!" he exploded. "And what in God's name are you doing with all that beer?"

"My parents aren't home, my brothers are still in school, and the cops never come down this way, so we'll be alright," she said, a trace of nervousness in her voice.

Ben scoffed. "You see," he pointed at her, "That's what I mean. Since when do you do stupid stuff just because you can get away with it?"

"It's not stupid. You ask me, I think the law doesn't give us enough credit. We can drink responsibly."

"Francesca," he said, looking at her incredulously, "some of those boys are not going to need drugs to get laid, because a lot of those girls were so wasted!"

"It wasn't that bad!" Francesca retorted. "God, why do you even care?"

Ben ignored her. "And I've heard some of the stuff you talk about with Jo, Grace, and Jim. You talk about how to get even with Grace's boyfriend for dumping her, you make fun of how chunky Jessica Fennison is getting, you..." He stopped, at a loss for words. "Haven't you ever thought of trying to be friends with your ex-boyfriends or something? I mean, I know it's awkward at first, but that's gotta be better than this useless quest for vengeance."

"Well, Grace just isn't wired that way, and you're s'posed to support your friends," Francesca defended as if it was an elementary truth. "I support my friends, unlike some people I know."

"Nice jab at me. You've become good at this," Ben said in mock admiration. He then grew serious. "Explain something to me, then," he began, much like a college professor challenging his students, "Why is it that most of your 'friends' are general or remedial students, whereas you are a straight-A honors student? Why is it that they always come to you for help, and you end up doing their homework for them? Why is it that, whether you want to admit it or not, you at least had the sense to not drink too much while the rest of that party got so drunk they were throwing up in the sink? Why do you coach them on whatever plan it is you've hatched to avenge an ex-boyfriend or something but never get involved in one yourself?"

"Where are you going with this?" Francesca snapped impatiently.

"Why do you choose to hang out with these people?" Ben cut to the chase. "You're just not cast from their mold. There are a lot of other kids at school that I think you'd get more out of and who'd see you for what you're really worth."

"And who are you to tell me what mold I'm cast from?"

"Francesca, we may have been drifting apart for the last two or three years, but I've known you for four times that long. I think I know something about what mold you're cast from."

"People change, Ben."

"I know that. All too well," he retorted. "But I don't think you've truly changed. If I believed that, I'd accept the fact that we're not friends anymore. But, truth be told, I don't think you're genuinely happy."

"I'm happy," she protested.

"Are you?" Ben countered skeptically. "You used to have this really genuine smile where your eyes would twinkle and anyone with eyes could see that you were as content as anyone could ever be. Do you know how long it's been since I've seen that smile? I've seen shadows of it occasionally, and I see this generic smile all the time, but I haven't seen that special smile in three years."

"You watch me too closely," she said haughtily. "It's creepy."

"You wanna talk creepy?" Ben said, feeling a soap box forming underneath his feet. "Okay, let's talk creepy. What's with the truckload of eye shadow you put on every day? You don't look pretty. You look stoned. And the clothes...Is it me, or do you make an effort to really push the limits of the school dress code? You're a beautiful girl, Francesca. Or you were. Why do you ruin it by making yourself look dumb, on drugs, and not exactly hard to get?"

A small but persistent feeling of hurt suddenly entered Francesca's heart and took up residence with those words. Resenting him for speaking what she refused to admit was the truth, she quickly repressed it and glared at him. "Who are you to judge me?" she said.

Ben sighed resignedly. He knew he wasn't going to get through to her, so he made one last desperate inquiry. "What happened, Francesca?" he said tiredly. "What happened to the sweet, innocent, cheerful girl I grew up with; the girl who didn't care about this useless stuff but did care about others? What happened to her?"

Her glare didn't change. She folded her arms with finality and said sternly, "She grew up."

Ben glared back at her for a moment then sighed once more, turned on his heels, and walked away.

Francesca stood, rooted to the spot, watching her former best friend grow more and more distant. Despite herself, a single tear escaped from each eye, and as she tilted her head slightly downward and promptly wiped them away, she spotted something shiny on the ground. She nudged it with her foot, and her eyes discerned a black knife handle and what looked like half a dozen pieces of a blade. She let out a tiny gasp, sighed heavily, and finally put her hands in her pockets and walked slowly back into the house.


	6. Chapter 6: Revelation

**Chapter 6**

Ben started once more towards home, but he had only taken a few steps before a subtle yet strange sensation slowly overcame him. He felt every muscle fiber in his body begin to weaken and could almost feel himself turning pale. This eerie feeling grew until someone else tapped him hard on the shoulder. He turned to find Jim Veston looking at him coldly.

"Look," he began, "I don't trust Dan anymore than you do, but stop stalking Francesca."

"I'm not stalking her," Ben replied firmly despite his confidence waning along with his strength as he wondered what was happening to his body. "Heck, the last thing she needs right now is a stalker."

Jim's fist crashed into Ben's abdomen, and this time, Ben buckled, feeling the due pain as if his nerves were compensating for their lack of response the last three times he'd been punched. "You're not friends anymore," Jim said, circling him. "What she does is none of your business. Accept it and move on."

"Oh, quit playing the hero," Ben snapped, the depletion of his courage not quite caught up to that of his physical power. "Yeah, I miss her, but I usually leave her alone because that's what she seems to want right now. But I can't stand by if I know that she's going to get hurt, whether she knows it or not."

Jim stepped closer and glared at Ben, their noses hardly an inch apart. "She's a big girl, now. She can take care of herself. And if she can't, her friends will. Her real friends. It's not your job to protect her, Kent." He said this with spite seeming to interlace his words. "What's been going on with you? I saw what you did to Gary. You've gone from total dork to aggressive jerk." He emphasized the last word with a punch to the face that landed Ben on his knees, knocking his glasses askew, but not before Ben had noticed the large, shiny green stone on a chain around his adversary's neck.

_Well, ain't that the pot calling the kettle black_, Ben retorted inwardly to his attacker's analysis. His spoken response, however, was less inflammatory. "Aggression is not in my nature," he managed to say, holding his still aching stomach. "But defending myself and others I care for, even if they don't care as much for me, is."

"Now who's playing the hero?" Jim taunted nastily.

Ben returned Jim's glare and replied, "This isn't about being a hero. Not for me, anyway." He was sweating now, hanging on to the last remnants of his former courage. "Besides," he nodded at the green gem that Jim was wearing, "what are you doing with that? You know that rock's illegal."

"Hence the symbolism," Jim smirked. "Couple of us guys were talking, and Fred Cathers was so drunk he decided to show off his rare gem," he explained, an evil grin on his face. "Stole it from a couple of drug dealers that didn't want a certain red-caped vigilante interfering with their operation. I borrowed it so I could put a little fear into you; let you know that not even that freak from another planet could save you from me."

"Why the heck did he steal it?" Ben groaned, wondering why a teenage boy would take the risk of stealing from hardened criminals something that had come to represent as well as indicate criminal activity and villainy.

"It's a good way to earn your stripes in Metropolis," Jim replied coldly.

Ben looked up at him, beaten, only to receive a final blow that landed him on his back. When he looked up, Jim was gone. As he slowly got to his feet, another strange sensation overtook him that undid what the first had done. His body regained its normal (for him) fortitude, his strength grew back to its awesome levels, and the color returned to his skin.

_Oh, sure, now I'm strong and invincible again_, Ben mused sourly. No sooner was the last word thought when another idea struck him like a bolt of lightning. His eyes widened, and he stood bemused for a moment, gears beginning to turn in his mind. Then, he groaned and decided to go home and lick his wounds before he tried to solve this increasingly mysterious puzzle. He tested his speed and sure enough found himself back in front of the Kents' door in less than five seconds.

Sighing, he pushed open the door. The door closed with an air of finality, seeming to indicate that at least today's eerie ordeal was over. _What a week this has been_, he quipped tiredly to himself, a soft groan escaping his lips.

Ben sped down the hallway to the left of the fireplace into the first-floor bathroom and leaned on the countertop surrounding the sink, trying to make his still sore stomach comfortable. He regarded himself in the mirror. A stream of blood trailed from his left nostril to his upper lip, and a shallow gash graced his right eyebrow. Somehow, because of Jim's two blows to his head, the wind that complemented the turbulence as he ran home, or both, his dark hair was now feathered back with surprising neatness, accented by a single, curly cowlick that hung over his forehead. Chuckling sardonically, he retrieved a cloth from the rack beside the sink and dampened it with cool water.

He deliberately brought his right hand to his glasses and paused to chuckle to himself. His resemblance to his father seemed to grow with each passing day. True, his eyes were brown where his father's were blue, and though age had been remarkably kind to both his parents, the experience that comes with seniority shone in the male parent's eyes and sharpened the distinction between father and son. The father was, for the moment, taller than the son. Finally, the senior Kent's hair was jet black where the junior Kent's hair was blackish brown like his mother's. But were it not for these four crucial differences, the two could've been mistaken for twins. Both Kents combed their hair in a very similar fashion. The same Greek nose and square jaw graced both their faces. Many of the same expressions had marked their features countless times during both their lifetimes.

Ben removed his glasses, setting them on the counter gently. He then shifted the cloth into the same hand and raised it to dab his brow. But the cloth never made it to his brow. His hand had stopped in mid-air. He stared in the mirror, bewildered at what he saw staring back at him.

Ben could no longer delay contemplation of the vague possibility that had occurred to him hardly a minute before. In fact, that thought was no longer vague. The gears in his head resumed turning, and the puzzle was quickly beginning to come together.

The younger, brown-eyed version of Clark Kent disappeared. In his place, Ben saw, to his bewilderment, a similarly altered version of man known around the world as one of wonder and mystery.

This stranger had literally descended from the skies and made his public debut on April 12, 1983, a date that was now a national holiday. An electrical failure in a space shuttle scheduled to land at Metropolis International Airport had disabled the engines, leaving it to fall freely, taking the inhabitant astronauts with it. The crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle that should've been the landing of a space shuttle had been reduced to staring in horror as the shuttle fell at a rapidly increasing rate.

The impending disaster had been averted by what some had later referred to as "an angel in blue and red." "Look up in the sky!" one observer had shouted. Sandy Gauders, then a mere four years old, was still famous for pointing gingerly to the blue and red marvel and suggesting, "It's a bird!" on that fateful day. A boy who was a little older had guessed, "It's a plane!" and earned himself an equal amount of renown.

But the flying wonder had soon taken the form of a man, and a very powerful one at that, in deep blue tights accented with red boots, a red codpiece, a yellow belt, a red cape, and a large, S-shaped emblem on his chest that would become his trademark. Single-handedly, he had flown straight towards the falling space shuttle and, to the shock of all who had seen, gripped its nose, promptly ended its fall, and lowered it gently to the ground...all with nothing but his own muscular force. Throughout Metropolis, and eventually the world, this phantom hero with supernatural strength was heralded as a miracle.

This would not be the last appearance of the miracle in blue and red. While his identity had continued to elude press and public alike (much to the frustration of the former), he had finally agreed to a comprehensive but private interview for the _Daily Planet_, an interview that had helped make Ben's mother famous throughout Metropolis. In fact, it was the future Lois Lane Kent who had coined the word by which the caped wonder would become known throughout the world. In the francophone world, he was to be called "_le Surhomme_." In Spain and Latin America, the people came to recognize "_el Superhombre_." In the Anglophone community, he was simply "Superman."

Though Superman had persisted in keeping his true identity to himself, he had granted the public some basic knowledge about his past. From that crucial interview, his origins and his entire roster of supernatural powers had become public knowledge. Superman had quickly become a Metropolitan tradition and a global institution. Wherever and whenever he could, the "Man of Steel" quelled emergencies and stopped crime dead in its tracks. From the simplest car accident on the streets of Metropolis to the eruption of a volcano near a small town in Europe, people had come to breath sighs of relief when they saw Superman arrive on the scene. From a local armed robbery to the far-reaching and nefarious plots of the One-Man Mafia (the infamous Alexander "Lex" Luthor), delinquents and villains had learned to curse the name of the Last Son of Krypton. In fact, kryptonite, a shiny green meteorite from another galaxy and Superman's only physical vulnerability, had become a hot item on the underground market. To make it harder to acquire the only known defense against the "Man of Steel," President Reagan had signed into law the Kryptonian Protection Act, which had made kryptonite possession a federal crime.

Ben stepped back. Brown eyes aside, he was the spitting image of Superman, who even wore his hair in much the same manner that Ben's now lay on his head. Ben returned to the thought that had struck him after Jim had beaten him. The weakness and vulnerability that had suddenly overtaken him had occurred only when he was approached by someone who happened to be carrying a piece of kryptonite. Ben's mental gears began turning even faster. He realized that his mysterious abilities matched some of Superman's known powers! He had superhuman strength, superhuman speed, invincibility, and x-ray vision! How had he not noticed it before? He wasn't a mutant! He was just his father's son!

Key memories replayed themselves in Ben's mind. He remembered his dad's cryptic statements on the telephone only a short time before. He recalled all the times he had seen Superman in action, and realized that his dad had always been in the locality but never at the scene. He remembered, in particular, his father's mysterious absence during the September 11 terrorist attacks and the days following, and Superman's tearful speech given during that absence, expressing his regret that he hadn't arrived on the scene sooner and his determined offer of any help he could give to the retribution.

Disconcerted and bewildered, Ben finally placed the cloth on his brow and walked out, deep in thought. He made his way briskly down the hallway and paused next to the door to the Forbidden Room. He realized as he gazed at it that, based on the conversation with Clark earlier that day, whatever that room held apparently had something to do with Superman.

Just before Ben turned to walk downstairs, the unidentified ocular muscle moved again, and the wall bordering the hallway disappeared, as did the outer surfaces of everything in his view. Now he could see clearly into the Forbidden Room. To the right of the door was a staircase leading up to the attic Ben had never been sure existed, and this staircase was bordered by another wall that Ben's eyes penetrated. In this second wall was another door across from the first, and behind it, a room that was bare except for two objects. Ben's eyes widened as he noticed a wheeled clothing rack with two identical red and blue costumes hanging on it, along with four empty hangers. Next to this rack stood an electric washer/dryer combo unit.

Ben blinked. He had to learn how to control this.

A knock sounded at the door, forcing Ben to turn his attention toward it in time to see the Metropolis Elementary school bus pulling away through the large window below. Ben raced downstairs, hurriedly brushing his hair back into some semblance of his usual style, and opened the door.

"Where were you?" asked Nikki, stepping in.

"Yeah!" Sam supported. "And what happened to you?" she added, noticing his bloody nose and brow.

Ben dabbed his brow gently. "I...uh...sorta got beat up," he said.

"Gary Fangler?" Nikki queried.

"No. Jim Veston."

"Why did he beat you up?" Sam asked, mirroring her sister's concern.

"He...uh...didn't want me around Francesca," Ben said.

Nikki regarded her brother skeptically. "Are you alright? You look...weird."

"Yeah," Sam concurred again. "You okay, bro?"

"I'm fine," Ben answered, knowing instinctively that his sisters weren't ready to have a clue about their father.

"Okay," Nikki said, a trace of skepticism remaining on her face.

Sam piped up. "Angie asked us to come over this evening. Can we go?" she asked.

Ordinarily, Ben would've enjoyed being looked to as a temporary authority figure, but he had too much on his mind at that moment. "I take it Angie's parents will be there."

"Her dad will," Sam confirmed. "Her mom's working late."

"How late will you be out?"  
Nikki paused in thought. "Oh, probably until seven or eight," she answered. "Angie's mom'll probably order a pizza."

Ben nodded. "That's fine. Be back by eight."

"We will," Sam said with a grateful smile as she and her sister headed outside again.

Ben watched through the window as his two sisters happily walked across the street and down about a block to a brick house. In the distance, he saw Angie open the door and let them in, and they disappeared into their friend's abode. _They have no idea_, he marveled, even though he'd have been surprised if they had.

But wait a minute. How could he have x-ray vision and still have oculovulnerosis? On that note, Ben moved to run back to the bathroom and retrieve his glasses, but a new thought stopped him dead in his tracks. Superman wore no mask, so how did he keep his identity a secret? With glasses, he realized. He recalled an urban legend about a woman who had had an extramarital affair that resulted in the birth of a child. Lucky enough that her soldier husband wasn't present at the time of his birth, she had started almost immediately forcing the boy to wear color contact lenses to counter his great resemblance to his real father. Ben stepped towards the nearest couch and collapsed. No wonder he had never been able to find a single inkling of information on oculovulnerosis. It didn't exist! It was just an excuse for his parents to make him wear glasses in order to hide his resemblance to Superman!

Anger rose in his heart. He'd been lied to all his life. He had never needed his glasses, which had only served to finish off his nerdy image. Not to mention the fact that Clark had apparently waited until after he started developing powers to tell him, letting his son's total cluelessness as to where those powers were coming from vex and confuse him when Clark himself had known the answer all along!

But, Ben reluctantly digressed, he hadn't bothered to share his eerie experiences with his father or anyone else for that matter. And what were his parents supposed to do? Tell a three-year-old boy he had to wear glasses as a disguise because his daddy was Superman and he looked too much like him? Ben chuckled. No matter how much his parents could've stressed to him "Mum's the word," word would've gotten around the playground sooner or later.

But still, he liked to think of himself as a relatively mature boy. If they couldn't tell him at that age, they should've told him at twelve or thirteen. He could've handled it then. And wouldn't his parents have been anxious to end the façade by then?

Ben rubbed his forehead. Everything seemed to be happening so fast. At the beginning of the week, a truckload of puzzle pieces had been dumped on him without any warning, and the result that was forming as he finally began to put the pieces together was a life-shattering truth. "My dad is Superman," he muttered aloud, as if officially admitting it to himself. "I am half-Kryptonian."

Ben sighed heavily. Whatever governed his emotions couldn't make up its mind among angry, understanding, thrilled, or just plain bewildered.

He then remembered that Clark was obviously planning on divulging the family secret when he got home. Ben groaned, seriously considering calling his father right then and there and sparing him the trouble. But, as his emotions entered another round of the understanding phase, he decided to let his father reveal the truth on his own terms. Ben had a feeling that this wasn't exactly the easiest conversation his father would ever engage him in.

Exhausted, Ben swung his legs gingerly onto the couch and lay on his back, his head resting comfortably on the armrest. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the ceiling, wondering anew if other powers would eventually come to him. He speculated especially on what it would be like to fly. Picturing himself among the clouds, he slowly but steadily drifted off to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7: Grandparents & a Walk

**Chapter 7**

A red pickup truck pulled up to the Kent house about one hour later. While not dusty, it certainly looked used. The tires were well-tread, and the body had long lost its luster. The left door opened, and out stepped an aging woman with wise green eyes and fading red hair that came down just below her shoulders. She wore blue-jeans, a white T-shirt, and a rawhide jacket with a scarf and mittens.

"Jonathan, we're not getting a new truck. This one works fine," said Martha Kent.

Her husband stepped out from the driver's seat and walked around the front of the truck to meet his wife. Jonathan Kent was athletic for his age, the result of a lifetime on a farm in Smallville, but his sixty-one years showed themselves nonetheless. Most of his dusty blonde hair had given way to silver, and lines were forming around his eyes and upper lip. His eyes were the eyes of a man who had seen a lot in his life, and he was dressed in a fashion similar to that of his wife.

"I know, it's just that every time we visit Metropolis I feel like some sort of hillbilly," Jonathan said with a humorous smile.

"Says a man who comes to a big city in dusty jeans and a rawhide jacket," Martha retorted.

Jonathan laughed and kissed Martha as they approached the front door. "Well, it's quiet, so that's a good sign," she observed as she pulled out her keys from her jacket pocket and unlocked the door.

"I'm sure everything's fine," Jonathan said, stepping into the house. "Ben is..."

He stopped at the sight of his wife's face. Martha had stopped dead in her tracks, a mixture of surprise and knowledge on her face. Following her gaze, Jonathan found his grandson sleeping peacefully...about two feet above the couch in mid-air.

Before either could say anything, Ben stirred. His eyes opened, then widened in surprise at the sight of his grandparents. But surprise turned to shock when he looked to his sides and realized where he was. With a start he fell back onto the couch, hitting his head on the armrest.

"Ow!" he grunted.

Jonathan and Martha froze, exchanging knowing glances but not daring to say a word.

"Did I just fly?" Ben asked, skipping greeting his grandparents in favor of a more pressing issue.

Martha finally attempted to speak. "Well..."

"I can fly, can't I?" Ben sat up, his eyes wide. "Oh, hell, I should be used to this by now."

That statement provoked Jonathan to ask seriously, "What makes you say that?"

Ben looked at his grandparents. Normally, he would've greeted them with a smile and asked what brought them to the city. Needless to say, he was not having a normal day. He looked downcast, having so many questions and not being sure he should ask them. His mind was bursting with things he needed to ask and say, and he suddenly wished his dad would just don his red cape and literally fly home right then and there.

"Ben..." Martha said gently, "...you can talk to us."

Ben swallowed and finally said, "I think I just found out that Dad is Superman," he said deliberately, not knowing how else to begin.

Silence enveloped the room. Martha pursed her lips, sighed, and slowly took a seat next to Ben. Jonathan followed suit. Ben looked at his grandfather, and the look that returned his glance officially confirmed that what he had figured out was true.

"What's going on?" asked Jonathan as calmly as he could.

Ben sighed, looked from his grandmother to his grandfather, and settled his gaze on the floor. Slowly, he recounted the eerie events of the past few days. As he spoke, he wondered more and more why Superman hadn't at least entered his thinking earlier. His grandparents listened carefully, exchanging knowing glances occasionally and nodding once or twice for Ben to continue. Ben sighed once more at the conclusion of his account.

For a moment, neither grandparent spoke. Finally, Jonathan said tentatively, "How do you feel about what you found out?"

"I don't know," Ben replied. "I like having these powers, but it's also kind of weird...you know? I'm half-Kryptonian. I'm part alien. Not exactly something you can get used to very easily. And why couldn't Dad have told me any sooner?"

"Well,..." Martha began, "...he didn't want to complicate your life." Ben gave her a derisive look, but his grandmother persisted. "He knew there would come a time when he'd have to tell you, and he's obviously decided that time has come, but...he wanted you to have a normal life for as long as possible."

"Yeah," Ben said resignedly. "I'm afraid normalcy's gone out the window, never to return."

"I prefer the word 'special,'" Martha suggested firmly. "You're more normal than you think."

"Call it what you want," Ben responded heavily, getting up and walking idly towards the window, "I'm no average Joe anymore, and it'll take a while to get used to that." His eyes lost their focus as he gazed into the sky, whose vastness seemed to mimic that of the possibilities Ben saw, albeit vaguely, ahead of him. If he could indeed fly, and fly with any speed resembling that at which he could run, the travel possibilities were astounding. He could take to the skies and go to any city in the country as if it were little more than an errand. He could fly to New York right now, confront his father, and probably be home that same night. If he wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, he could depart after lunch and be back in time for dinner. If the mood struck him to visit Rome, he could make a simple weekend excursion out of it.

Physical intimidation meant nothing to him anymore. He could stand up for himself with little effort and without himself packing a single blow to his opponent. In fact, he realized, his conscience had a new ally in preventing him from striking at anyone unless it was absolutely necessary: the fear that he'd do more damage than he wanted to.

He knew blades couldn't harm him, and though he had no way of knowing for certain, he had a strong feeling that neither bullet nor flame could scathe him either. The dangers of big city life were no longer a worry for him. His only physical weakness was a rare and illegal green gem. While the unveiling of his heritage had erased many everyday dangers from Ben's life, it had also forced him to become aware of a single, more exotic vulnerability to replace those to which he found himself immune.

"It's funny," he observed, turning to face Jonathan and Martha. "Most boys would love to have powers like these, but I do and...in a way, I like having these abilities, but...the implications of them are a lot to deal with."

Martha nodded in understanding.

"What about the twins?" Ben asked. "Will they ever...?"

"We don't know," Jonathan answered. "We had no idea whether or not any of you kids would develop any of your father's gifts until just now."

"Where are the twins, anyway?" Martha inquired.

"Over at Angie's," Ben answered. "She's having a little get together or something. Sam and Nikki will be back by eight."

His grandmother nodded in satisfaction.

"Why does Dad do it?" Ben asked rather abruptly.

"What?" Jonathan asked.

"Superman. Why the second identity?"

"Well,...you probably don't want to hear this, but I think these are questions you'd be better off asking your dad. He's the one that should tell you these things. For now, just know that he has some very good reasons," Jonathan stated gently.

Ben teased the floor with his toe, deep in thought. "Oculovulnerosis doesn't exist, does it?"

Martha exchanged a glance with her husband, then met Ben's gaze and nodded. "You've done alot of thinking, haven't you?"

"How could I not?" her grandson responded bemusedly.

"Yeah," Martha agreed softly.

Ben sighed heavily. He smiled slightly at his grandparents. "Any particular reason you came here, or did you just come to check up on me, like mom's been doing on the phone loyally?"

Jonathan chuckled. "We just wanted to see how you were holding up."

"Are you on any kind of a schedule?" Ben queried tentatively.

"No," replied Martha. "Why?"

"I'd like to take a walk. You know,...to clear my thoughts. I need someone to be home for the twins if I don't get back in time for them."

"Say no more," Martha said with a smile. "I'd actually love an excuse to stick around. We haven't seen you kids in a while."  
"Yeah," Jonathan concurred. "I wouldn't mind seeing my little munchkins again."

Ben smiled. "Thanks." He retrieved his coat, scarf, and gloves from the rack next to the front door. "I'll be back in an hour or so," he promised.

"Have fun," Jonathan said.

His grandson gave him a look.

"Well, okay, just don't get too bogged down with what you've just found out. That's exactly what your father doesn't want you to do. Think things out, but don't overdo yourself," the grandfather amended.

"Right," Ben agreed. "See ya, Grandma," he said, kissing Martha on the cheek.

"Oh," Martha stopped him suddenly. "Your glasses."

Ben nodded sheepishly. He ran back to the bathroom and carefully replaced the lenses on his face, realizing their importance as he did so. Walking leisurely back towards the front door, he thanked his grandmother for the crucial reminder before turning the doorknob.

Ben stepped out of the house and was soon strolling down the sidewalk aimlessly, his thoughts occupying his consciousness and allowing his body to go wherever it would. Alone but not lonely, he walked without regard to where he went. Time and place had little meaning for him as his mind tossed and turned over the startling truth it had uncovered, trying to come to terms with it. The next time his thoughts momentarily relented and his mind returned to the present, he found himself in uptown Metropolis, a seeming canyon whose walls were made of the accumulation of edifice after edifice, height varying from three stories to thirty. The white-collar office buildings were usually the tallest, with deep alleyways between each one. The apparently endless series of such stainless steel colossi was broken by two or three monolithic buildings a few blocks long divided into several small shops and restaurants, each one discerned only by presenting a different frontal appearance. The front of the bridal shop, for instance, was painted white, with an arch over the inset door and a large window displaying the shop's best work. Right next to it was Vincenzo's Italian restaurant with its front wall made of multi-colored brick.

The melodious chorus of "O Come All Ye Faithful" reached Ben's ears, and his pace quickened as he approached a group of caroling Metropolis University students singing whole-heartedly in front of the entrance to one of Metropolis' many shopping malls. He paused and let their song immerse him, a content smile on his face. With each word of the carol that he heard, the realization grew in him that perhaps his life hadn't changed as much as he was inclined to think. Superhuman or not, he was still Ben Kent. He could still partake in life's simple pleasures. He could still do well in school and eventually go to college. He could still be his kind self towards others.

A paradoxical feeling gently overtook him. He felt markedly different, yet somehow the same. He knew his life would never be the same, but he himself had changed very little. It was perhaps a cousin sentiment to a more familiar coming-of-age sense that a period of one's life was ending but another was beginning.

Ben smiled and nodded in compliment as the carolers ended their song and resumed his promenade. A contented sigh escaped his lips. He was still far from certain how to proceed with his unusual capabilities and heritage, but acceptance was growing within him.

Ben walked further, coming upon a very familiar part of the city. Only a few blocks down from the busy intersection that he was approaching was the tall _Daily Planet_ building, a building that Ben had visited many times in his life. He remembered his last visit. The editor, Perry White, had greeted him with his usual, "Hey, Clark Jr.," using a nickname he had become accustomed to using as he noticed Ben's growing resemblance to his father, both in looks and in mannerisms. Once, Ben had even been asked if he was planning on becoming a journalist. He had replied, "I don't think I'll be following in my dad's footsteps."

Ben smiled fondly as he recalled the number of people who had called him "his father's son" or "a chip off the ol' block," simultaneously realizing the new irony such remarks had acquired.

But such thoughts vanished when he saw what surrounded another very familiar edifice. A subtly majestic brick building with wide windows and two pairs of luxurious doors facing the street. This was the Metropolis Recreation Center. In the twilight, the decorated building would've been a sight worth seeing...were it not surrounded by squad cars, SWAT officers, and yellow crime scene tape.

Ben's gait accelerated, and he peered through one of the large windows as he approached, trying to find out what was going on inside. He was not surprised to find a multitude of Metropolis High School students in formal wear. The Metropolis Recreation Center was once again the site of Metropolis High's end-of-semester Christmas dance, and with good reason. The two pairs of front doors opened immediately to a large dance floor. To the left was a formal dining room with a concession stand at the far end and several large windows. To the right was a spare dining room adjacent to a smaller room occupied by several vending machines and a state-of-the-art stereo system. Between this room and the concession stand and facing the dance floor was a stage, a large platform of stone blocks glazed with fine wood planking. Curving outward at either end of the stage and likewise made of stone were the walls separating the dance floor from two small rooms from which one could enter the stage, create sound effects for theatrical productions, or simply observe events on the dance floor through the two elevated windows in the stone walls. Between the left such room and the wide doorway to the main dining area was a long staircase with dark marble treads. It led up to a balcony bordered by solid railing that overhung the stage and oak pillars that graced the tall ceiling. From this balcony, three large salons, or "suites" as they were popularly called, could be accessed.

An impressive building in itself was decorated in the yuletide way. Garland grazed over the stage. A wreath hung on the observational window on each side of the stage. The golden oak planks of the dance floor were sprinkled with "snow." The piece de resistance, however, was an imposing 15-foot fir tree, decorated professionally with red and blue balls and silver garland, frosted with snow imitator, and regally crowned with an elaborate gold star.

But no one inside was enjoying the majestic Christmas tree at the moment. They were too busy keeping their eyes, which revealed emotions ranging from very cautious and submissive to just plain frightened, on the two gunmen who stood before them. The entire attendance lined the walls bordering the dance floor, squatting or sitting on their knees. Some held their folded legs against their chests, their chins resting on their knees. Their eyes, most of them wide with fear if not with extreme apprehension, followed the gunmen's every move. Some were even weeping in dread or in sheer anticipation of tragedy.

Both gunmen wore black jeans and a thick black jacket. One wore a navy blue ball cap that cast a shadow over his gray-blue eyes and the top half of the scar that ran from his right temple to his jaw. The other had long blonde hair, a beard, a moustache, and a pair of sunglasses. They each gripped a handgun, poised for action.

His eyes focused on what he saw inside, Ben almost stumbled over the yellow tape.

"Whoa, kid," said a female police officer with short curly hair and a thick black jacket. "This is a crime scene. Don't cross this line."

"What's going on?" Ben asked instinctively, craning his neck to get a good view of the scene, which was crowded with policemen weaving between squad cars, guns cocked, a few of them conversing with armed SWAT men.

"Hostage situation," she answered. "We got three guys in there who say they're gonna shoot one person every half hour if we don't give 'em what they want."

"How long has it been?"

"Ten minutes," answered the police officer. "Anyone in there you know?"  
"Yeah," replied Ben. _Most importantly, Francesca_.

"Well, don't worry," the officer stated deliberately. "We're doing everything we can to get everyone out safely." Her eyes glanced over Ben's shoulder, and Ben turned to see the press beginning to arrive. Were his mother not on a business trip elsewhere, she herself would've jumped out of the red _Daily Planet TV_ van that parked abruptly as close as it could get to the crowd of concerned citizens gathering around the crime scene. "Where the hell is Superman?" the cop wondered aloud.

The approaching cameraman had obviously heard her, for he responded, "New York. We just got word that he just stopped some kid from blowing up the Brooklyn Bridge. By the time news of this reaches the Big Apple, I doubt even he'll get here in time."

But Ben hadn't stuck around to hear this. By the time the cameraman had finished his sentence, he was already standing in the dark alley between the recreation center and Walters and Hert law firm. He had used his super-speed to get by the barricade unseen. He instinctively knew he had to do something, but he also knew that he couldn't be too public about it.

Ben wasted little time in uncertainty. He turned the corner, spotted the nearest fire exit, and forced the door open.

He was greeted by the rough hands of a masked gunman in faded jeans and a black leather jacket. "How the hell did you get in here?" he demanded, slamming the door almost frantically

Ben was about to disarm his attacker, but the awareness that he risked exposing his dad's secret by doing so stopped him, and he silently cursed himself for not removing his glasses and brushing his hair back before entering.

But the attacker wasn't wasting any time. He forcefully took Ben by the arm and led him at gunpoint out into the balcony and down the stairs. All the while, Ben was deep in thought. He had to find a way to keep everyone safe without using his powers visibly. He had to make sure no one took a bullet without himself taking one, for he was almost certain now that any bullet fired at him would be ineffective.

As he approached the final steps that led to the dance floor, Ben realized what he had to do. One hostage would be shot every half hour. He had to make sure he was the first. Hopefully, the gunmen thinking they'd killed a hostage would buy the police and SWAT team more time without any true casualties. If that borrowed time wasn't enough, he wasn't sure what he would do and hoped the second part of his plan would come to him while he was implementing the first.

No sooner did he step onto the dance floor than he heard a stifled gasp from among the hostages. The scar-faced gunman whirled around and glared at a very scared Francesca, who promptly apologized meekly with her eyes and drew her folded legs closer to her. His captor released him into the hold of one of his burly companions with a shaven head and each cheek tattooed with the image of a serpent.

"Sit down," the bald gunman commanded in a tone that left absolutely no room for argument.

There was no turning back now. Ben began implementing his plan. "Where?" he asked simply.

The bald gunman looked at him like a bulldog from which a T-bone steak had just been stolen. "Do you think I give a damn?" he shouted. "Sit your pathetic butt down somewhere and don't move!"

Ben shrugged and began perusing the human lining of the walls and the stage front, making for one spot then deciding against it and moving on. Not thirty seconds went by before the scar-faced gunman yelled "SIT DOWN! I don't care if you have to sit in someone's lap!"

Ben turned around, pretending to be startled, then took an exaggerated amount of time to squeeze himself between two boys. He sat cross-legged while all three gunmen looked at him with a growing annoyance.


	8. Chapter 8: The Obnoxious Hostage

**Chapter 8**

"We need to act now!"

The Metropolis Police officer turned with an annoyed role of his eyes to face the leader of the SWAT team. Lieutenant Morgan Forbes was a veteran with twenty-one years on the force to his name. He had seen enough gang violence, domestic abuse, and murder to turn anyone cynical. Miraculously, though, he was not what one could call a cynic, though he was far from naïve. He liked to call himself "experienced." That experience showed in his brown eyes, which almost always conveyed a subtle sadness at the degeneration he saw in society.

The SWAT team leader, on the other hand, was only moderately experienced and still driven in no small part by a youthful zest and eagerness. His thin-cut hair and baby blue eyes made him look even younger than his thirty-two years. He wasn't even old enough to have been in law enforcement on the fateful day that debuted Superman, which was a common measuring tool among Metropolis law enforcement officers.

"If we storm the place, they'll just start shooting the hostages at random," Forbes said. "We still have a chance to save as many lives as possible. Keep your guys at bay."

"We work fast," insisted the SWAT leader. "If we go in now, we could probably get to them before they can cause significant wounds or casualties."

_A man who thinks only in numbers. I hate people like that_, Forbes thought to himself. "I'm not taking that chance." If he could help it, there would be no wounds or casualties, period.

The SWAT leader opened his mouth to argue, but the crackle of Forbes' cell phone stopped him. Forbes flipped it open and held it to his ear. "Forbes," he introduced himself.  
"I know who you are," said a cold voice from the other end. "I can see you through the window."

Forbes looked into the building and saw the scar-faced gunman wave at him with a wickedly amused smile on his face. Growing grim, Forbes beckoned a few deputies over to him. "It's one of the gunmen. Listen in on this," he commanded, his hand covering the mouthpiece. Giving them a few seconds to prepare their wiretaps, Forbes said bluntly, "What do you want?" to the gunman. "How did you get this number?"

Inside, the scar-faced gunman cackled. "I have my ways," he said before getting down to business. "And what I want...you should already know."

"How's that?"

"Just this morning your boys apprehended some of our business partners and confiscated a hundred kilos of coke that they were s'posed to deliver to us. That was a very important shipment for our...business venture. It would've launched us into the big time. And I must say I was quite displeased when I heard that it was interrupted."

"And your point is?"

"I want those men released from prison so that they may complete the shipment they started. I want that coke, and I'll accept it only from them. No tricks, and if you try anything funny, I will know. I have men everywhere there's a way to get in." The voice was still cold, seemingly devoid of human emotion. "I hope that this will also teach you that this pathetic little war on drugs isn't worth the trouble. You can try and try, but in the end, it'll only cost more public lives. Even now, the clock is ticking. Fifteen minutes until the first hostage is dead."

Forbes swallowed, feeling time closing in on him. The jail was a full twenty minutes away. The confiscated illegal drugs were still at the station. "You said one hostage per half hour, yet you waited fifteen minutes to give us any clue as to your demands. That's hardly fair, don't you think?"

At this, the drug dealer laughed derisively. "Wake up and smell the dead roses, Forbes. If you want to get ahead in this world, being fair is not an option. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that. And I chose to get ahead."

As he said those words, Ben Kent was glaring at the drug dealer, fire quickly growing in his eyes. Strutting before him was a man who was willing to take human lives for the sake of an illegal business transaction so that he could probably resell and get rich off of something that would, in some way or another, destroy even more lives, all without a second thought. The scar-faced vagabond's philosophy about the price of being fair demonized Ben's perception of him even further, and the young half-Kryptonian felt an unusual kind of anger. It was a very impersonal kind of anger, for Scar-Face had done nothing to Ben or even to those he cared for, with the possible exception of making Francesca quiver in fear across the dance floor from him. It was the kind of anger that arises when compassion is in the presence of cruelty. It was an anger based almost entirely on principle. Had Adolf Hitler been standing in the room, Ben would've felt no less angry.

His anger mounting, he nearly forgot to be obnoxious. Quickly, he resumed his plan. "Have you seen that new cell phone commercial?" he asked casually, breaking the fright-induced silence like a knife.

"Shut UP!" Scar-Face growled, still clutching his phone. "I've had just about enough of you, retard!" Fueled by his furious annoyance at Ben, the drug dealer returned to Forbes, shouting into the mouthpiece. "The bottom line is that for every half hour that those guys don't walk in here with the weed, one person in here dies! If they're not in here in one hour, it goes down to every fifteen minutes! Make your choice, Forbes!" With that, he turned off the cell phone and stuffed it forcefully into his jacket pocket.

Morgan Forbes pursed his lips and looked towards the three officers who had donned compact headphones to eavesdrop and exchanged knowing glances. "Call a chopper," Forbes commanded heavily. "Get those guys and their drugs here now! We'll apprehend them when they try to escape with it!"

The SWAT leader motioned to his snipers, and they shuffled into several strategic positions on nearby rooftops, rifles ready.

"Let's move!" Forbes added with finality.

Back inside, Ben continued to provoke Scar-Face. "So, you're a drug dealer, huh?" he said. "Must make a lot of money," he observed. "Have you ever considered investing in stock?" he asked.

Ben's complete lack of fear was becoming more and more unnerving. "NO!" Scar-Face shouted. "What idiot would make drug money traceable like that?"

"Oh, right," said Ben, slapping his knee as if to say "shucks." "That's illegal money." He made a shame-on-you gesture with his fingers.

The bald gunman who had brought him in spoke up. "Is this guy in special ed or something?" he asked with a roll of his eyes.

"Nah, baldie," Ben replied. "I was held back...twice." _Good, Ben! Make them think you're dumb while you insult them_, he congratulated himself inwardly.

Baldie stormed up to him. "Look, this isn't a game, kid!"

"I know it's not a game. It's no fun!"

"It's not s'posed to be fun!" Baldie growled. "You're a freakin' hostage!"

Ben gasped in mock shock. "Language, language," he admonished.

"We'll use whatever language we damn well please!" said the bearded gunman coolly.

"Is that so Blondie?"

Blondie cocked his handgun. Ben glanced over at Francesca, who immediately took the opportunity to mouth, "Ben...please...," imploring him to shut up. Ben looked at her sadly for a moment. _I'm sorry, Francesca. I'm sorry you have to live through this. But I'm here to make sure you DO live through this, and everyone else. I know you don't understand, but please...just keep quiet and trust me._ Regretting every moment of dread he was helping to put her through he turned back to the gunman. "Well, in that case..._Vous êtes les plus grands bêtes du monde! Vous tous meritez faire la connaissance du diable lui-même!_" He savored the opportunity to vent the anger that had been mounting within him, to tell them what he really thought of them, without them understanding a single word. Granted, it would've actually aided his purposes to say, "You're the biggest fools in the world! You all deserve to meet the devil himself!" in English, but what he knew of psychology told him that being a constant but non-inflammatory annoyance would be more effective than just standing on a soap box and slamming them. The latter was too predictable and could easily be interpreted as masking fear. The lack of fear that characterized the gabby and clueless persona he had assumed was more nerve-wracking, and Ben knew it.

"Shut up! No French!" Blondie spat.

"Fine. I'll do Spanish. _Ustedes son_ –"

"Shut your trap!" Blondie cut him off. "Geez! Dumb as a post, but he knows three languages! Unbelievable!"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Ben said. "It's not nice to call people dumb."

The next sound in the expansive room surprised even Ben. It was Francesca's tearful, desperate cry. "Ben...please...shut up!"

Scar-Face turned on his heals to look at the source of the cry with contempt. He spat on the floor in front of her. "Boys," he started, an evil smirk on his face, "I think we've found our first victim."

The other two moved to capture her, but Ben stood up and without thinking blurted, "No!"

His voice rang through the room, breaking the heavy atmosphere like a ray of light in fog, and everyone stared.

"Take me," he said with resolve.

All three drug dealers turned their cold eyes towards him, and Francesca began shaking her head tearfully, helplessly mouthing, "No, no, no."

Scar-Face looked skeptically at Ben, turned his gaze to Francesca, then returned to Ben, and a devious cackle escaped his lips. "So that's it!" he said, swaggering towards Ben. "You're not a retard! You just wanted to be a hero! Draw all our attention to yourself and save your little girlfriend over here!"

Ben's silence confirmed to all present that the drug dealer spoke the truth. His act was over. He could only hope now that he had succeeded in making himself their first victim. Ben swallowed and said not a word.

Scar-Face approached, drawing his face so close to Ben's that his breath brushed the tip of his teenage adversary's nose. He began to circle the bookish youth with a gait that made each step ring with pure spite. "Well, guess what," he said with a malevolent chuckle. "Your sacrifice will be to no avail. You're gonna be our first kill, but your little friend over there will be next. So you've achieved nothing!" He hissed the last word emphatically in Ben's ear. "In fact," Scar-Face mused, "we may even end her wretched little life a little early just to make your death and hers all the more tragic."

If looks could kill, Ben would've needed none of his unusual physical faculties to make the drug dealer drop dead then and there. He wanted to tear this monstrous hominid apart, grab him by the collar and send him flying, arms and legs flailing, through the nearest window and into the waiting hands of the police. But his self-restraint was aided by the knowledge of the sorely false sense of security and power the drug dealers had towards him. To them, he was just a teenage boy trying foolishly to play the hero. But Ben was not there to play, nor was he there to die. He was there to uphold justice and to prevent tragedy.

"Shoot him," Scar-Face ordered. "And let this idiot be an example for all of you," he added to the crowd, "that heroics don't pay."

Ben heard, more clearly than perhaps a more uncaring ear would, a desperate sob from Francesca. He swallowed, wanting to give her one last reassuring glance but not daring to do so for fear his will power would fail him. He longed to rush over, take her in his arms, let her tears fall on his shoulder, and shield her from bullets and the terror around her, all the while soothing her until she felt relatively safe again. But such a move would be too dangerous, for the Kent family secret and for everyone else in the building. Reluctantly, he resigned himself to the fact that he had to put Francesca and all of his peers through a rather disturbing experience in order to save them. He had to appear himself to be shot in order to prevent any real deaths. With that in mind, he stood motionless as the bald drug dealer raised his handgun, cocked it, and fired.


	9. Chapter 9: Saved by Lead Paint

**Chapter 9**

Several screams sounded from the crowd, and Francesca was no longer the only person there in tears. Many could tell that Ben had been shot only by their auditory sense, for they dared not look.

His memory forming a record of the shot that seemed far slower than the event itself, Ben shifted so that the bullet would strike him in a place whose fatality was at least ambiguous. He felt the dull pain that often follows an injection in his right shoulder, which jolted backwards only slightly from the impact. The next thing Ben's senses perceived was a crushed bullet landing with a _clack_ on the floor. Thinking quickly, he let himself collapse to the hardwood floor, landing purposely on his stomach to delay anyone from noticing that he wasn't bleeding at all.

His eyes closed, Ben nevertheless sensed one of the drug dealers stepping towards him. He felt a pair of strong hands grip his ankles and tried to rid his muscles of all tone whatsoever as he was dragged away, down a hallway, up a short flight of stairs, through another door, and into a large room. As he approached, Ben became alarmed as he felt a familiar weakness appear and spread throughout his body. He mentally screamed, "No, no, no! Not now!"

"Watch him. Poor little idiot must've fainted because he was so afraid," Ben heard his carried say to an unseen comrade when he finally stopped." He then added with a sneer, "We tried to shoot him, but apparently some of us need to work on our marksmanship. Just keep him in line if he wakes up."

The unseen comrade replied with a steely voice, "Looks pretty pale. I don't think he'll even be on his feet anytime soon."

_If this keeps up, I won't_, Ben thought in dread. He dared to open his eyes just enough to see that he was sprawled on the floor backstage between Baldie and a well-sculpted companion who was probably guarding the back door that lay just beyond the door that he stood next to. Ben's suspicion was confirmed, much to his chagrin, when he caught sight of the large green gem the guard held in his hand. He mentally groaned. This was not going the way he had hoped! He had to get out of here, give the police a way in, and make sure everyone got out safely, especially Francesca! The kryptonite crystal was the size of the muscular one's palm, and its effects were accelerating. It would soon become a chore to even lift his own arm!

"Shouldn't we shoot 'im, though?" the guard asked. "The half hour has passed."

Baldie thought about it with a casualness that Ben found appalling. "Nah, not now. Let him know real fear first. Besides, unlike the fool the boss put in charge of this whole thing, I know the cops ain't stupid. When they get here with those drugs, they'll probably try to cut us off when we escape with them. He would make good...insurance. After we let the other hostages go, we'll surprise them with one last hostage to see us back to headquarters. Then,...who knows? We may have to shoot 'im anyway if we think he might remember where we do our stuff."

"Right."

The diminishing sound of footsteps told him that Baldie was walking away, and he was soon gone. Ben lay there, feigning unconsciousness while in reality concentrating frantically on possible escape routes. He then stifled a groan as the guard approached him leisurely, bringing the kryptonite nearer with each step. The hard leather of a shoe made swift and forceful contact with Ben's stomach, and the resultant groan escaped his lips.

He heard the man chuckle. "So you are awake, huh?" he said, prodding him with his foot. "Not a good idea to play the hero," he taunted. "Especially if you're such a chicken that you faint instead of take a bullet like a man."

Ben opened his eyes, realizing that the unconscious act was over. He tried to raise himself up with his arms, but didn't get far before collapsing back to the floor. The kryptonite continued to sap his strength, and his captor smirked at him, quite pleased with himself. Holding up a pistol, he said, "I have this to handle the police..." He then held up the kryptonite. "...and this for that red-caped freak. So I wouldn't rely on that Bastard of Steel to come swooping in to save the day."

Ben's hand curled into a fist.

"I never did understand why they put up with 'im," the guard continued. "I say use some kryptonite to throw 'im in a lab somewhere and open him up to see what makes him what he is."

Ben pictured his father on a dissection table, and his fist tightened as he longed for some miracle to shield him from the kryptonite so that he could show this scoundrel that he was playing with fire. But his immense physical prowess had departed, and he now estimated that his strength was now very much below normal human levels.

"Why the Man of Steel wastes his powers on being some kind of hero is beyond me. He could probably rule the whole planet if he wanted to."

To this, Ben couldn't resist responding. "Because there's a little something called right and wrong," he retorted flatly. "But I wouldn't expect you to understand that concept."

"Well, at least you're bold in your defeat," the man said, impressed.

Feeling the forerunner of panic forming in his mind, Ben forced himself to remain calm. He scanned the room with his eyes, looking for a possible escape route. Although he bore a small fear of his own life, his main concern was that he was now useless to the other hostages. He dreaded hearing a gunshot from the dance floor, especially since Scar-Face had promised that Francesca would be the next victim.

Then he spotted it. The muscular guard was standing underneath a shelf on the edge of which stood a can of paint, and Ben could read on the can's label that it was lead paint. He recalled that lead was the only substance that Superman's eyes couldn't penetrate and also the only material that effectively deflected kryptonite radiation. Seeing that the paint can was aligned almost perfectly above the guard's head, he decided to take the chance. He had to, for Francesca, for all the other hostages, and for justice. If his plan failed, the man could become so enraged at being drenched in paint that Ben may find himself with a whole in his head. But if the paint fell just right,...

He began using his hands and the friction of the floor to drag himself towards the shelf. Fortunately, the muscular guard seemed ignorant of his intentions and chuckled at what he probably perceived as a very meek and desperate attempt to crawl away and escape.

Ben drew closer, sweat beginning to wet his hair. Each time he pushed against his hands to move his body forward, the effort became more strenuous. Like a lost and thirsty traveler crossing the Sahara, he trudged on, hoping that the effort to reach the shelf would leave him just enough strength to implement his plan.

When he finally came within arm's reach of the shelf's support beams, he raised his hand and struck his palm against the nearest beam as hard as he could. The shelf jolted slightly, and the paint can drew a millimeter or two closer to the edge. He struck it again and again and again, the force of his blows growing weaker each time.

Wary of the guard discovering the true nature of his actions, he continued striking the beam, looking at the paint can and wondering in frustration how close it must come before its own weight sends it crashing down on his captor.

Finally, to his dismay, Ben felt a suspicious gaze on his back. The man looked up and saw the paint can hovering above him. No sooner had the expletive "Hey!" left his mouth than a final blow to the support beam sent a shower of orange lead paint onto him...and covered the green gem as he dropped it in surprise.

A wild scream escaped his lips, but Ben was already on his feet. His muscular capacity growing rapidly, he used all the force he had at that instant to bring the empty paint can crashing down on the man's forehead. The guard collapsed, unconscious, and the lead-coated kryptonite lay harmless before him.

Ben leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, and waited a few moments while his blood pressure returned to normal and his musculature regained its awesome fortitude. Meanwhile, the sound of an approaching helicopter reached his ears and grew steadily in volume until Ben could tell that it was about to land atop the building.

Meanwhile, a mass of young, shaken hostages were flooding out of the recreation center, the police flanking them with guns poised to assure their safety. Morgan Forbes looked up at the helicopter that had just landed on top of the edifice carrying the two illegal drug vendors and the merchandise that Scar-Face had demanded. He loathed making any concession whatsoever to such lowlifes, but he also believed that the first priority of his job was to save as many lives as possible. One hostage had already been shot, presumably, and he wasn't about to put any more at risk. Sighing heavily, he turned to regard the SWAT men, rifles poised in strategic positions scattered among four nearby rooftops, ready to act upon order.

His mind's high alert, which had eased slightly with the release of the hostages, swelled to its former peak when Scar-Face himself emerged from the stairwell. Following closely was his bald companion, who held captive a teenage girl with a strong arm around her shoulders and a gun hovering too close to her head for comfort. Forbes groaned inwardly, realizing instantly that the girl was insurance that they would be allowed safe escape in the helicopter. This was not over yet.

Somewhere in the crowd of anxious and tearful parents that had by then gathered closely behind the police and the press, Sarah Mánquez gasped, her voice breaking, and buried her face in her husband's shoulder. Wishing he could be braver for both himself and his wife, a mortified Alejandro Mánquez could only wrap his arms around her and watch as his daughter, Francesca, was used as a pawn in a very perilous game.

Atop the recreation center, the constant beat of the helicopter's blades caused Francesca's blonde hair to whip and wave as if in a strong wind. Her cheeks were red and tear-stained, but no new tears escaped her eyes. Becoming a hostage had terrified her. The prospect of losing a friend she had thought she could do without had devastated her. The release of the hostages had given her an all too brief feeling of relief. Becoming the drug dealers' insurance of a safe escape had terrified her all over again. She was now in a numb sort of shock, for her capacity for emotion had been overloaded and expended in a very thorough manner. Her eyes were wide and blank. Her forehead was sweaty. She dared not speak nor move unless told to.

"Get in," Scar-Face ordered with a shove.

She climbed onto the worn leather seat of the helicopter in silence, joined by the stifling and morbid presence of Scar-Face and Baldie, who took a seat next to her. Behind her sat two unruly and grave-looking young men, each holding a torn brown briefcase.

Scar-Face looked behind him and, satisfied that the police had held up their end of the bargain, turned to the middle-aged pilot. "Go! Go!" he commanded.

Just as those words were uttered, a boy emerged from the stairwell. He wore no jacket, which was striking considering the winter chill. His black hair was brushed hastily back with a curly cowlick accenting his forehead. His intense brown eyes fell on the helicopter and its passengers just as it lifted off the concrete rooftop.

Ben Kent had easily deflected the two drug dealers who had come to see what the muscular man's scream was about and had removed his jacket and glasses to avoid recognition if he was forced to use his hereditary powers visibly. With the rhythm of the helicopter's blades drawing nearer in the background, he had then rushed out to the stage in time to see the hostages being filed out.

But Francesca had been nowhere in sight. Nearly frantic, he had intercepted one of the exiting hostages and quickly inquired where she was. It was thus that he had discovered that she was to be the final hostage to assure the drug dealers' escape.

Ben had promptly headed up to the rooftop, accelerating to superhuman speed and throwing any of the drug dealers' cohorts that he encountered aside as if they weighed little more than a basketball.

Now, he began to run towards the helicopter, in his determination and urgency blind to the fact that he had not yet mastered the flying abilities that he would need to pursue it. But he stopped short.

Out of the clear twilight sky, there appeared as if out of nowhere a small blue and red figure headed at awesome speed towards him and the helicopter. Superman himself quickly came into clear view, soaring with the speed of a cannonball shot from some celestial artillery, and met the helicopter in mid flight. In a motion too swift for any of the other passengers to react, he pulled Francesca out by the waist and held her firmly with her back against his chest, presumably to shield her from any bullets that may be sent her way. With his free right hand, the Man of Steel gripped the riders of the helicopter and began pulling it downwards.

Though he couldn't hear what was being said inside the helicopter, Ben was pretty sure that most of Scar-Face's words consisted of four letters as he fumed and thrashed in fury and frustration. As cheers from the crowd below filled the background, Ben looked at the mighty Last Son of Krypton with new eyes.

Superman was, to almost everyone, a figure that commanded admiration and respect. He was always a welcome sight. Teenage girls and young women fantasized about calling him their own, and little boys fantasized about being him. He was automatically a trusted friend and colleague to any law enforcement officer. Technically a vigilante, Superman was nonetheless perhaps the world's only one to be legally and socially accepted. The reasons for this were two. First, it would obviously be very difficult to prosecute a man whose true identity was so elusive and impractical to imprison a man who could make spaghetti out of the bars of a jail cell. Second, while Superman was certainly not lazy in his crime-fighting, he rarely if ever encroached on the role of police officers, judges, and juries. He was never unnecessarily violent, believing his only job to be apprehension, not retribution.

Ben watched as the police swarmed around the rapidly descending helicopter. The drug dealers were promptly handcuffed and hauled away. Francesca, after a brief and tearful conversation with the Man of Steel, finally resumed voluntary movement as she rushed into the anxious arms of her parents. Ben smiled. Francesca's ordeal was over, and no other lives had been lost. He smiled. In that moment, he wasn't angry at his father for withholding such a huge secret, nor was he confused or overwhelmed by unanswered questions. He was simply proud. He had always known his father to be a man of integrity, but he had now acquired a nobility in Ben's eyes that made him beam with pride. He briefly fantasized about shouting at the top of his lungs, "That's my dad!"

Then, his eyes drifted to the disgruntled criminals being led one by one out of the building towards the squad cars. His expression grew serious as a rising wind whipped his hair about and made his shirt dance against his chest. Much of the youthful ingenuousness in his eyes that had helped to distinguish him from his father was gone. He realized now more than ever that the world, for all its positive attributes, was also a violent and ruthless place. He saw very clearly that this was why Superman did what he did more than anything else.

A determination arose within Ben; the determination that the ability to mold steel with his bare hands or bounce bullets of his chest were not the only things he'd inherited from his father. He'd also inherited a destiny. Ben Kent could still become the scientist he had always dreamed of being, but he would also devote his life to using his unique abilities to be a powerful force for justice and compassion. He may not don tights and a cape tomorrow and start flying among the skyscrapers of Metropolis, but nothing could dissuade him now from eventually growing into a role similar to that of his father. The drive to do so would be forever present in his mind from that day on, and he knew it. Ben Kent would never be a superhero as merely a tribute to his paternal heritage or to win paternal pride, though those two results would be welcome bonuses. Ben Kent would be a hero because it was the right and natural thing for him to do.

"You must have a lot on your mind to be standing on top a building in this weather without a jacket," a voice from behind interrupted his thoughts.

Ben turned and faced Superman, who displayed with effortless dignity the red S-shaped emblem that had become a world-renown symbol of justice and heroic deeds. Impressive yet gentle, he stood at a wide stance with his arms folded across his barrel-shaped chest in a pose that had become his trademark, his large cape draping his broad shoulders and flapping in the wind.

"I do," Ben replied slowly.

Superman shifted, eyeing his son with a knowing gaze. He nodded at the small hole near the right shoulder of Ben's shirt. "Bullet?" he asked, making more of a statement than an inquiry.

Ben looked at the hole and nodded. "Yeah."

Superman averted his eyes and looked towards the heavens. "Ben..." he began tentatively.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yeah," Ben answered, almost whispering. "You're my dad. Clark Kent."

Superman pursed his lips and turned his eyes back to meet Ben's.

"Is this what you wanted to tell me?" Ben asked, gesturing at his father's costume.

Superman nodded in confirmation. "Yes."

Ben swallowed and gazed downward, not knowing what else to say except, "We need to talk."

"Yes, we do. No doubt about that," Superman concurred softly. "Listen, I'm going to go tell Francesca that you're alright, that you just fainted or something. She was pretty upset about you being shot. You get your glasses and jacket back on and go home. I'll meet you there. If anyone asks, the shooter had a fluke and missed, and you just fainted in fear."

Ben nodded in agreement.

"I'll see you soon." With that, Superman took off.


	10. Chapter 10: The Talk

**Chapter 10**

That night, while Jonathan and Martha kept the twins occupied with a movie, Clark Kent added a few mini-marshmallows to each of two cups of hot chocolate he had prepared in thoughtful silence. He idly recalled the nights when a much younger Ben would wake up because of an odd nightmare, and he would spend about one hour in the dark of night relieving his son's fears over a mug of cocoa. He had made this night's cocoa purely out of habit, but he had soon realized that the action had an unexpected benefit. Clark knew that this conversation would be a turning point in Ben's life. Only the notorious sex talk came close to the impact of the discussion he was about to have. It would be a nice touch to have such a discourse flavored with a Kent tradition that his son had grown up with to ease the transition.

Ben was more or less aware that this very thought process was going through his father's mind, and he didn't resent it. In fact, it actually did ease the impending revelation. Still, Ben didn't know why he was so anxious. He knew his father was Superman. The worst was behind him. Perhaps there was simply something about having it confirmed by Clark and that confirmation making it, in a sense, official.

Clark turned around, and Ben regarded his father with a discerning eye. He was seeing Clark without his glasses for the first time that he could remember, and the sight of him thus juxtaposed itself. His hair was by then a rough semblance of the Superman look, but he had either changed out of the costume or put on jeans and a flannel shirt over top of it. It was the body of Clark Kent with the head of Superman, and this combination seemed almost a mismatch.

Clark approached in silence, sat down across from his son, handed Ben his mug of cocoa, and set his own down. He pondered his first words. "I had this speech all planned out," he began with a nervous chuckle.

"But...?"

"But I hadn't planned on being away when you started...developing. And you've obviously figured out a lot for yourself. The speech I had planned was designed to use before you really had any clue. Before we go any further, what all can you do now?"

"I can lift automobiles, I can run at super speeds, I have flashes where I can see through things, blades and bullets can't hurt me, and I think I can fly."

Clark nodded. "Have you been around any kryptonite? The police found a piece of it covered in paint when they did a run-through of the rec center."

"Yeah. I managed to dump a can of lead paint on the guy that was holding it."

"Well, that explains the paint-covered guy I saw them hauling out," Clark mused. "So it did affect you?"

"Yep. It's just like it is with you. I lose my strength pretty fast, my blood pressure drops, all that stuff." Ben cocked his head. "I take it they confiscated the kryptonite."

"Yes, they did," Clark confirmed. "Now, has anyone seen you do any of these things?" he asked gravely.

"Yes," Ben replied. "I confronted a guy with a knife, and it broke when he tried to stab me. And I tossed two kids at school a good distance into a couple of garbage cans. That's about it."

"Okay, we're going to have to talk about the details of those events later," Clark decided. "For now, I'm going to open the floor to you. I started by asking you some questions, but the person who should really be doing all the asking is you. So, whatever you want to know, just ask and I'll tell you."

Ben's first question had an obvious answer, but he needed to hear it. "So you're Superman?"

"Yes."

"And there's no such thing as oculovulnerosis, is there?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"No."

Ben took a sip of his hot chocolate as he pondered his next question. "Why the secrecy?"

Clark sipped his cocoa. "There are several reasons. Most obviously, there's the fact that if people knew who I was, they'd be asking me to do stuff for them all the time. Even things they can do for themselves. I don't mind helping people. I do it because I almost feel obligated because of my powers, and I love it. But...I think after a while,...people would come to depend on me too much, and I wouldn't have a life of my own. Can you understand that?"

Ben nodded. "Yeah."

"More importantly, though, was something that your grandpa told me as soon as I was old enough to start understanding the implications of my uniqueness. If people found out about me, Dad's worst fear was that some government-backed group of scientists would come and take me away – once they figured out my one physical weakness – and study me and dissect me. I would become a lab rat. And once they had me all figured out, they'd probably try to exploit whatever biochemical potential I had in me for technology. I'm all for scientific progression, but I also believe in human rights."

"Right," Ben agreed, his perspective on his father's situation expanding by the minute.

"But the most important reason..." Clark resumed, becoming grave, "...is what my enemies could do with the knowledge. Kryptonite may be my only source of physical pain, but I am very capable of feeling emotional pain. And if some criminal found out who I was, he'd know who my family and friends are..."

"...and could hurt you by hurting them," Ben finished for him, in deep thought.

"Exactly. Or worse. Coerce me into doing some superhuman dirty work for them."

Ben shook his head in awe. "Wow!" he said softly. "I never would've thought of it like that. I mean, it makes sense when you say it, but...none of this stuff occurred to me. I just didn't realize the implications...and everything you have to take into account."

"It is a lot to think about," Clark agreed. "Which is why I held off telling you for so long. Being a teenager is hard enough for anyone, and it's not exactly fair that you should have something like this to carry around."

"What made you decide to tell me now?"

Clark took another sip of his hot chocolate. "I noticed you were starting to really beef up just before I left, more so than normal, and you probably had been for a while then without it being really noticeable yet. I knew almost for sure then that...you would have powers. I knew that you would probably start experiencing some pretty strange things, so...I figured I owe you an explanation."

"You didn't know I would inherit anything until a few weeks ago?" Ben interrogated.

"No. Your mother and I didn't know what to expect. We thought about the pros and cons about you having any powers. I've always felt that, though these abilities can be a blessing, they can also be a curse sometimes,...but then again, as your mom pointed out, at least we wouldn't have to worry about you being murdered by some street gang or something. But we really had no idea."

Ben looked down at his cocoa in thought, idly watching the three marshmallows that were floating on the surface. He then looked out the window into the snowy night, his mental gears once again turning.

"You're a miracle, you know that?" Clark said abruptly, breaking the silence.

"How so?" asked Ben, curious.

"Your mother is human. I'm Kryptonian. When your mom and I got married, we still had no idea if we were genetically compatible! You've seen it in magazines. Scientists are still speculating on whether or not Superman and an Earth woman would be able to conceive. Even Dr. Farmer couldn't tell for sure. Then, one day, I got a call from your mom. I was in Paris doing a story, and the first thing she said was 'Clark, you're not going to believe this.' Right away, I was alarmed. But then she told me she was pregnant, and I just sat there as I talked to her, bouncing back and forth between skepticism and joy. We visited the doctor, he ran some tests, and he came back shaking his head in awe." Clark laughed. "Your mother told me later that he even pulled her aside and asked very reluctantly if she'd been cheating on me."

A thought struck Ben, and he suddenly felt a fledgling resentment at his father, even though he knew his dad had no control over it. Yet, Clark may have cursed his son in a way even he probably hadn't anticipated.

"Dad,..." he began apprehensively, "humans and Kryptonians must be pretty similar, then, right?"

Clark nodded

"Like...lions and tigers."

Clark nodded again, intrigued by the analogy.

"Have you ever heard of a liger or a tion? They're both a cross between a lion and a tiger. Well,...ligers and tions...are sterile, you know, because they're an interspecies hybrid..."

"You're a little young to be thinking about your fertility, Ben."

"I know. I just...When the time comes..."

Clark smiled gently. "I understand," he said. "Do you remember that blood test you had a few years ago?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Dr. Farmer had a karyotype done. He had the same concerns you're having, so he ordered it done special. This was one of the first ones he'd done. The technology was kinda new then."

"And...?"

Clark gave his son an amused smile. "You're fine, son. Forty-six chromosomes. Twenty-three pairs. All relatively equal in size. In fact, Dr. Farmer said that there was only one detail on the karyotype that distinguished it as a half-Kryptonian genome. I can't remember what it was now."

"Good," Ben breathed. "Not like I'm going to be testing that body part any time soon, but it's good to know."

"I understand."

"You know what this means, though?"

Clark furrowed his brow in perplexity. "What?  
"Well, the definition of a species is a group of similar individuals capable of having viable and fertile offspring. That's where the line is drawn." Ben smiled, enjoying the notion that he was human after all, at least scientifically. "I'm alive, I'm viable, and I'm most likely fertile."  
Clark was also pleased with the notion. "That's a good point! I hadn't thought of that!"

"We are human," Ben determined. "We're just a really unique subspecies or something."

Clark flashed another gentle smile, the smile of a father about to dispense a piece of wisdom. "Let me tell you something, Ben. We always were human, whether we're the same species as everybody else or not. There's more to being human than being _Homo sapiens_."

"True," Ben concurred with a nod. "So tell me..." he digressed, "...how did you know what was going on at the rec center?"

"Your grandparents saw it on the news and gave me a call."

"Oh."

"Speaking of news..." Clark began, sipping his cocoa, "...now I can tell you the real reason I didn't take that anchor job."

Ben tilted his head in interest. He hadn't thought about that in a long time. "Didn't think you could juggle being a TV anchor and a superhero?" he asked.

"Nope," Clark confirmed. "If I was an anchor, I would just be too visible. It would be way too noticeable to the public that every time there was live footage of Superman, I was consistently absent. I might have been able to do my stuff and then get back to the station to deliver the report on what I had done, but I just didn't think it was a risk worth taking." Clark chuckled. "Besides, can you imagine something unexpected coming to the table in the middle of a broadcast, and it's something that I feel I should be involved in."

Ben nodded. "Somehow, I always knew there was something more to that decision than you were letting on. I just knew it!"

"Well, now you know. I can't tell you how much of a relief it is that I can finally be open with you about this."

"It's a relief for me, too," said Ben. "For a while I thought I was some sort of mutant or something, but it's a little easier now knowing exactly where my weird powers come from."

"I'm sure," Clark stated with a sip of hot chocolate. "Oh," he started abruptly, "would you like me to show you what's really behind that door that your mom and I always keep locked?"

Ben's eyes widened in bemused eagerness. "Yeah. I would."

Clark gripped his mug and stood up. "Follow me."

Ben didn't need to be told twice. He took his own mug in his hands and began shadowing his father into the living room, up the staircase, and up to the locked door. Clark pulled a key from his pocket, inserted it, and, with a gentle smirk at his son, opened the Forbidden Door.

Directly in front of Ben was the wall and door he remembered seeing by accident just after he had figured out the Kent family secret. Beside the door and to his immediate right was the staircase he had also seen so briefly earlier that day.

The two Kents passed through the second door and into a small room with no windows. The washer/dryer combo was still there, and the two Superman costumes hung proudly on their rack.

"This is where your mom and I wash and dry my suits," Clark said. "I have seven altogether, but I took five of them on my trip."

"I figured," Ben said. "I saw this room for a moment when I had one of those flashes of x-ray vision, you know?"

"Yeah. I remember those. Was that what tipped you off? Seeing the costumes?"

"No," replied Ben. "It was just the clincher." A thought occurred to him. "How did you know that I knew who you were this afternoon?"

"Your grandparents told me that, too."

"Oh, right," Ben nodded in comprehension. "By the way, how do you control that x-ray vision, anyway?"

"It takes a little practice. I'll work with you a little on it," Clark said almost as casually as if they were talking about a baseball pitch or how to grill good hamburgers.

"Ok."

"Now,..." Clark said in thought as he turned and headed towards the staircase, "I can show you my office."

"Your office?" Ben queried as he followed his father's lead and ascended the steps. "I thought the office was downstairs."

"I mean my other office," Clark explained.

Clark led his son up the stairs, and, upon reaching the top, both Kents turned right into a medium-sized room walled by plain wooden boards. From here, Clark and Ben turned left to face another door made of the same wood as the walls. As this door opened, Ben was wrought with a positive sort of apprehension. After fourteen years, the mystery of the attic would be solved! Clark turned the knob, and the door swung open.

The walls of the slightly oblong room were painted blue. To his immediate right, Ben could see a pale green couch flanked by two octagonal end tables and a large square coffee table. To his left and a few feet ahead, there was a desk with a computer resting upon it. Further up the left wall and near the door on the other end of the room were two bookcases, and in the center of the room just ahead of the coffee table was a round mahogany table. Breaking through the right wall a few feet ahead of the couch was the edge of the Kents' brick chimney.

"This is the Superman office," Clark announced as if he were a tour guide. Approaching the computer, he gestured towards it and explained, "I mainly use this to check up on police records and other such things as that, especially when I'm on the trail of a particularly elusive criminal." Pointing to the round table, he continued, "I'll often use that to lay a map on or something if I need to plan something, and your mother sometimes helps me there." Turning to nod towards the couch, he added, "And sometimes, if I'm tackling a particularly difficult problem, I usually sit on that couch and just think."

"Hmm," Ben grunted, amusedly fascinated by the fact that Superman used an office of his own. "What are the books for?" he asked, pointing to the multitude of volumes on the bookcases.

"Those I use for scientific knowledge. It came into play a lot when Lex Luthor was alive. For all his malevolence, Luthor was a genius, and he sometimes came up with schemes that required some extra technical knowledge to figure out and thwart. The first really tough scheme he had, I ended up borrowing all these books from the library to research what scientific principles he was using against mankind this time. The third time that I had to really dig in order to figure out what he had up his sleeve, your mom suggested I just make up a small collection of useful, comprehensive scientific works so I would have a sort of standing resource to save time whenever I needed it."

"I see," Ben said bemusedly. "So this is where Superman does his behind-the-scenes stuff, huh?"

"That's one way to put it," Clark verified with a smile.

Ben took a deep breath and sighed idly, marveling at all that he had discovered about himself and his family in just a short week.

"Now," Clark began, his tone growing slightly serious as he sat down on the couch. "Tell me exactly what happened with this guy with a knife and the two guys you tossed into garbage cans."

Ben took a seat next to his father and slowly recounted his confrontation with Gary and his too goons. He then moved on to Francesca's party and his face-off with Dan. Recalling the discussion with his health teacher about steroids halfway through his account, he shared that as well with his father. All the while, Clark listened with an attentiveness that seemed as unshakeable as his bulletproof form, his blue eyes glued to his son's face, his super-sensitive ears focused entirely on Ben's words. When Ben finished, Clark breathed a long breath and pondered for a moment. "Well, son," he said, "I don't think people are going to pay too much attention to those incidents. I hope not, anyway. If someone asks you about what happened with Gary, tell them that your anger gave you a little extra strength. They'll probably believe that. I don't think you're going to beef up too much more, so your health teacher's concerns should be relieved soon. If she keeps after you, though, I'll come up with something to tell her. As for the knife,..." Clark resumed his contemplation for a moment. "...the only person that saw that probably doesn't have the guts to try to find out how you did that, and he isn't likely to have a lot of credibility if he decides to speak up to someone. If anything comes up, though, let me know as soon as you can, understand?"

Ben nodded. "I'll be more careful, too, now that I know why I have these powers."

"Good," Clark approved. "I think you already know this, but nobody can know your secret. The knowledge is a lot to handle even for someone you can trust. Trust is not the whole of the issue."

Ben nodded again. "I know."

"'Cause there will be times," Clark guaranteed, "when you'll want to show off your powers, maybe just to spite people like Gary Fangler or tell someone what it's like to have Superman for a dad. I promise you there will be times like that. Believe me. I grew up with abilities no one else had, too. I know what it can be like."

Ben swallowed, realizing that his father meant what he was saying now more than ever.

"But," Clark spoke deliberately, looking his son straight in the eye, "for the sake of our family and our friends, this must stay between us, your mother, your grandparents, and, in a few years, the twins."

"Grandma and Grandpa Lane included?" Ben asked in a rather business-like manner.

"Yes. We told them when your mother and I got engaged. Your Aunt Lucy too. At that point, they had a right to know."

"Alright."

"But, Ben, I know also that you're going to want to use your abilities to help people...and even stop crime. The fact that you were at the rec center today confirmed that."

"I'm going to do whatever I can whenever I can, but I'll be careful," Ben stated deliberately.

"I know, and I'm not going to try to stop you or talk you out of it. I don't think I really want to, and I don't think I could if I did want to," Clark conceded. "But keep as low a profile as you can. Use no more of your strength or speed than you absolutely have to, and if you develop heat vision, use it sparingly. X-ray vision and super-hearing, if you ever get it, are a little safer because you can never actually be seen using them, but a word to the wise: be careful not to slip in conversation and mention something you saw or heard that a normal human wouldn't have been able to."

Ben nodded at the end of each sentence, his eyes never leaving his father's face.

"And if you must fly," Clark added a final note, "stay out of sight as best you can. Stay low to the ground or something."

"Got it," Ben replied with conviction.

"I know I can trust you," Clark said. "Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes," said Ben, effectively signing an ethereal contract.

Clark's serious expression eased, and he sighed. "Now, I know you probably have a lot on your mind and you have no school tomorrow. But try to get some sleep, tonight," he said with a gentle smile.

Ben nodded for the final time that night, taking a deep breath and releasing it with a slow sigh. He then stood up and headed downstairs.


	11. Chapter 11: Francesca Ponders

**Chapter 11**

Francesca Mánquez sat on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest and straddling her chin gingerly between them. It was mid-afternoon, but there was an almost nocturnal silence in her room that neither comforted nor troubled her but just seemed suitable for the circumstances and for her mood. She was neither happy nor sad, neither carefree nor worried. Her parents, who had embraced her long and hard several times the night before for no obvious reason other than the overwhelming relief that she was safe and unharmed, referred to her as "still a little shaken." However, there was more on her mind than they would've guessed. Yes, she was shaken. Yes, she was still replaying the past evening's events in her mind in spite of herself, trying to make sense of it all. Yet as if the trauma of the severely unsavory soirée wasn't enough, there were other elements that contributed to the bemused expression on her face.

No matter how many times she tried to analyze the events of last night in general, her thoughts ceaselessly returned to focusing on Ben Kent. Why had the shy, mild-mannered boy she had known her entire life chosen that night to be bold and heroic? She had been scared quite enough for herself and a few friends, and she had also experienced the normal sort of impersonal, compassionate fear for others around her, but when Ben Kent had purposely put his neck on the line and died (or so she had thought at the time) in an unusual act of sheer nobility, her terror had been complete. Of all the friends there that night, Ben was the one, she had then known, that she could least afford to lose. This had struck her as strange when the thought had occurred to her. While she still would never genuinely wish any harm on Ben or even just look the other way if serious harm was befalling him, they had drifted apart over the last few years, and, if anything, her concerns for him should've been slightly less than her more recent friendships who had become a greater part of her life. But then again, that was just it. She realized now that she would never have wanted to lose Ben with their friendship in such a disappointing and unfulfilled state.

The age-old dictum, "You don't know what you'll miss until you don't have it," seemed to be coming true for Francesca, and it was unsettling. She even mused that the proverb should read more accurately, "You don't know what you'll miss until you don't have it or are faced with the impending prospect of not having it." She puzzled over how Ben had managed to evoke such a feeling from such an emotional distance as the one that had developed between them. On that note, her thoughts once again returned to how tragic it would've been if Ben had been killed without he or she having the chance to resolve their differences and return to the casual friendship that had allowed her to at least get along well with him once their original closeness had been eroded.

Francesca sighed and fell onto her pillow in exasperation, burying her head in the collection of plush toys that decorated her bedspread. Her eyes wandering aimlessly, her gaze fell on a pair of round, peg-shaped eyes that she had almost completely forgotten about peering at her through the huddle of stuffed animals. In idle interest, she turned to her side, propped herself up on her left elbow, and dove her hand gracefully into the menagerie. Momentarily, Raggedy Andy emerged as if from a long, dark tunnel.

She exhaled through her lips in resignation, her breath batting a lone strand of blonde hair in the air. The doll seemed to taunt her with the fact that it too made her think of Ben. Pursing her lips, she drew it closer to her, inwardly surrendering to the memory that was threatening to break loose from some remote region of her mind into full consciousness.

Eight years ago, she had acquired a colorful Raggedy Ann doll as a prize for winning a game of Hot Potato at Zoe Sethers' birthday party. Its wide smile and small eyes had been the cutest thing her six-year-old eyes had ever seen. Raggedy Ann had quickly deposed her second Cabbage Patch doll as her favorite. She had found a companion whose warm face always seemed to welcome idle chatter and secret-sharing. Ann's presence would be commanded on all trips and on many "grown-up" social events, and the doll kept her occupied without fail. Her mother had even joked that Benny Kent had some competition for the "bestest friend" position.

Then, during her simultaneous Peter Pan craze, she had seen an old Raggedy Andy doll decorating a downtown coffee shop and realized that Ann had been missing her "brother." The storekeeper regretfully refused to part with the family heirloom, so Francesca had turned to her parents, imploring them to reunite "poor Annie" with her long-lost brother. Alejandro and Sarah had refused to give her any definite response, secretly wishing to save such a gift for Christmas. Francesca had voiced Raggedy Ann's desire to have a brother regularly after that, and Christmas couldn't come soon enough for the Mánquezes.

Little had they known, however, that Benny Kent had taken it upon himself to grant Francesca's wish. He had therefore convinced his mother to let him do laundry for a wage of $2 per hour. Unfortunately, when Lois had discovered that the reason for her son's sudden interest in employment was "to get that doll for Francy," she had mistakenly assumed that he had intended to give it to her for Christmas.

That is why Lois had been taken aback when, a dozen loads of laundry later, Benny proudly presented Francy with the long-coveted toy...twelve days before Christmas. She could still remember a little boy with tiny glasses and a sugar-bowl haircut approaching her with the Raggedy Andy doll that she had so long yearned for. In that simple gesture, Benny Kent had set her mood on high for about a month. Her eyes had lit up with glee to supplement the wide smile that had spread across her face. Eagerly taking the prize in her arms, she had given her live friend a peck on the cheek (which he had wiped off in disgust) and rushed off to facilitate a happy brother-sister reunion between Ann and Andy. When she had finally gotten around to verbally thanking Benny, who had undergone some light scolding from Clark for spoiling Francesca's Christmas present, he had shrugged and said, "I can't make you fly, but I can make you happy sometimes."

Teary-eyed, an eight-years-wiser Francesca giggled softly, recalling the snippet of a song parody her father would sing to her every Christmas from then until she was eleven: "On the twelfth day of Christmas, her best friend gave to her...a brand new Raggedy Andy doll." It was then that the realization overcame her that this wasn't just about Ben. It was about everything he represented to her. Ben Kent epitomized simpler times for her when life's little pleasures were all it took to bring a smile to her face and her entire outlook was more candid and less judgmental. Perhaps provoked by the thrill of new friendships with three exotic peers, she had gradually assumed at least an outward interest in the more sensational pleasures and drives of popular adolescence. Ben, however, had always retained a certain innocence about him that had come to seem too childish to Francesca. In the minimal conscious thought that she had given her shifting perceptions, she had always equated them to natural growing pains and felt a sort of satisfaction in a feeling of growing maturity.

She groaned at the idea to which she somehow knew her thoughts were leading. She now remembered a feeling of which she hadn't even been aware during the events of the past evening when it was at its peak. It was a sense of almost tragic lack of satisfaction in how her life would've ended had she been killed that night. Though she couldn't put her finger on it, something was missing that would've at least let her die with no regrets. Yet if the drug dealers had put a gun to her head and said gruffly, "Any last words?" she somehow knew she would not have had the words to voice her regrets. The best her strained consciousness could do was to conclude that she wasn't happy. On the surface, perhaps she was, but the fact that she would've felt an irksome lack of fulfillment in her life (even as much as can be had in a mere fourteen years of life) as it was at the point of her would-be death spoke volumes for her true level of happiness. Ben had been right, and it was driving her crazy!

She resignedly grabbed her pillow and covered her face with it, exhaling in exasperation once more. It wasn't fair! No teenager should have to think about things like this!

Her thoughts were interrupted by the ring of her telephone. Mentally exhausted, she almost didn't answer it but at the last minute decided that a good phone conversation might be just the relief she needed from her unbecomingly deep thoughts.

Tossing the pillow aside, she nevertheless made no effort to sit up as she gripped the wireless telephone on her nightstand. "Hello?" she said tiredly.

"Oh, my God! Grace told me what happened!" said Jo's voice from the other end.

"Jo," Francesca greeted, not sure if this was the person she really needed to talk to.

"Are you alright?" Jo cooed. "I mean, I can't imagine the kind of trauma..."

"I'm fine," said Francesca. "I'm a little shaken, I guess, but I'll be alright."

"I'd come over, but I'm at Grace's, and she's a mess!"

"No, that's okay. I think Grace needs you more than I do."

"Yeah..." agreed Jo softly. "I'm just glad I had to go to my grandmother's funeral, because I can't imagine where I'd be if I'd been there!"

"Oh, Jo, I forgot!" Francesca rubbed her forehead. "Your grandma! Oh, this is probably the last thing you needed to hear about right now."

"Nah. This is actually delaying the whole grieving-process thing, so...it's actually a good thing, I think."

"Okay."

"I still can't believe it!" Jo marveled in horror. "Did anyone get shot?"

"Well, Ben did..." Francesca answered, wincing inwardly at the memory, "but..."

"Oh, that's right!" Jo cut her off. "Grace told me about how Ben tried to play the hero. It was nice and all, but it was also kinda dumb, wasn't it? I mean, where did he suddenly get the guts? And then the bullet missed him, but he just fainted because he was so afraid!"

Francesca's brow furrowed. "It wasn't dumb," she protested.

"Well, I know the circumstances were dire and all,...and it was pretty brave, in a way,...but people who aren't naturally brave should never try to be. You know? It's not healthy."

Francesca's eyes narrowed. "Ben can be brave," she contested. "What he did was noble, if nothing else."

"I guess, but still...he's just like his dad. I'm an intern at the _Planet_¸ so I know Mr. Kent. He's just not the kind of guy who's known for sticking up for himself or anyone else. I've seen him put his foot down sometimes, but he does it so carefully. In fact, I've heard that a lot of times he happens to be around when some emergency comes up, he usually sneaks away so soon he's gone before Superman shows up! Ben's usually his father's son, so I guess I just think it was kinda stupid to try to be something he's not."

"How do you know he's not?" Francesca said heatedly. "People change, Jo."

The pause at the other end told her that Jo was taken aback.

"Look," Francesca digressed softly, "I just think we can all learn something from this. You know? And would you do me a favor, Jo? Tell Grace to try writing her own papers. It may take a little effort, but I think once she has a taste of the satisfaction of really earning something, she'd be surprised at what that little bit of happiness can do for her."

"Has this trauma gone to your head? Grace can't write worth spit!" said Jo incredulously.

"Because she doesn't try to learn half the time," Francesca replied, more pointedly than she intended.

Jo was miffed. "You got that right about people changing!" she observed. "I would've thought this experience would make you more humble, not more stuck-up! Whatever happened to the Francesca we know that told us to do whatever works best for us?"

The answer seemed to come surprisingly naturally. "She grew up," Francesca responded with finality. Frustrated, she hung up. She didn't feel like trying to make Jo understand what she was going through, partially because she didn't fully understand it herself, and also because she somehow doubted that Jo would ever really understand.

An idle sigh escaped Francesca's lips, and she was about to collapse back on her bed again when she suddenly realized the urge to pay Ben a visit. She had to talk to him. It was the only way that she could see to put her mind at any kind of peace. Her mind mustering all the decisiveness it had, she slid off the bed and willed herself to go out into the hallway and down the stairs, taking some comfort in her own bemused silence. Before she knew it she had arrived before her front door. As she paused to take her rosy pink coat and checkerboard scarf from the coat rack and put them on, she pondered with no definitive results what exactly she would say to the best friend she had thought she had outgrown but now needed more than ever. Stepping outside, she hoped that her instincts were right, and the right words would come to her when she got there.

The short walk to the Kent house seemed even shorter. Only the oddly soothing cold registered in her consciousness, which otherwise spared only enough thought about her surroundings to allow accurate navigation towards her goal. Her mind was focused on the vague concept she had of the nature of the impending conversation, one that she began to feel was long overdue.

Thus, it gave her a small inner start to find herself in front of the Kent door so soon. Feeling a slight nervousness, she swallowed and knocked her fist on the door three times. She stood in anxious anticipation, knowing this would be her first real conversation with Ben in years. Her anticipation mounted as soft footsteps sounded from within. Then, she breathed in as the doorknob turned with a dull click, and a somewhat puzzled Ben Kent appeared before her.

"Hi," he said blankly.

"Hi," she returned softly.

"How are you? Alright?" he asked with a serious gaze.

"Yeah. I'm a little shaken, but I'll be fine." Her voice seemed to have lost all decent volume.

Ben nodded.

"May in?" asked Francesca.

He moved aside and, after she stepped gingerly inside, closed the door gently behind her. He then looked at her as if expecting something from her but not knowing exactly what. She fumbled, trying to no avail to think of a good way to begin a discourse of which she had only a vague notion of the direction. When words failed her, she turned to the only remotely appropriate action she could conceive. She stepped towards him, put her arms around his neck, and held him close.

Surprised, Ben nevertheless brought his arms around her waist instinctively.

Her chin resting on his shoulder, she whispered, "Thank God that guy was a bad marksman!"

He could virtually hear the trauma in her voice, and at that moment, an apparition of the past evening's distress at seeing her so scared and threatened returned to him. His gentle grip tightened slightly. "I know," he said slowly. "I'm glad he was too."

She chuckled sadly. "I'm sure you are." She then pulled partially away from him to look at his face. "For a while there I thought you were dead," she stated.

"Well, I'm not," said Ben.

"I mean, seeing just anyone die would not have been easy for me, but you..."

Ben's brows furrowed quizzically. "What do you mean?"

Francesca looked at him apologetically and pulled slowly out of his embrace. "Look, I know we haven't spoken a lot lately...but you're still my friend. I know that now."

Ben pursed his lips and turned his eyes away. "You know that now," he repeated. "Now that I've practically risked my life for you."

"I suppose I deserved that," Francesca admitted dejectedly.

Seeing her suddenly so downcast, Ben realized for the first time that perhaps this wasn't easy for her. He mentally kicked himself. "No you didn't. That was a little harsh."

"It's just..." she began, not sure where she would end up, "I guess I thought I'd outgrown you or something. You know? It was like...once I got around Jo and Grace and saw all that they were up to...I felt more mature being involved in the kinds of things that they were into. I thought you had to have a little wider circle of friends in order to grow up properly,...to have the kind of teenage experiences that our parents are always so nostalgic about. And when you didn't seem to fit into that...I guess I kinda abandoned you."

"Wow," Ben breathed, genuinely taken aback. "You've thought about this a lot, haven't you?"

"Yeah," Francesca confirmed. "I would've felt so bad if you'd gotten killed with things the way they were between us. I never would've thought it, but last night made me realize that. And another thing...the truth is that right now I feel more nostalgic about all the stuff we used to do together than I'm probably going to feel when I'm forty looking back on whatever 'Wonder Years'-type experiences I'm going to have. Especially if you're not a decent part of them."

"Hmm," Ben mused, intrigued by Francesca's thought process and pleasantly surprised to hear that she missed their friendship as much as he did. "Thanks. That...means a lot to me," he replied, still not entirely certain where this conversation was going.

"I guess...what I'm trying to say is...I'm sorry."

Ben shook his head. "Don't be. You just wanted to be accepted and feel grown up. It's normal," he said, simultaneously shocked at his own forgiving words.

"You didn't abandon me for a couple of cool jocks or something," she pointed out.

He was becoming slightly irked at how hard she was being on herself. He shrugged. "That doesn't mean I didn't feel like trying to get into that crowd sometimes."

"I guess it is part of growing up,...just not in the way I imagined," she pondered.

"I guess you could put it that way," Ben agreed.

A momentary silence ensued before Francesca bit her lip and asked nervously, "Can we...like...pick up where we left off...about two or three years ago?" She swallowed. "I wanna be your friend again, and I mean really be your friend."

Ben knew his answer immediately but managed to keep what otherwise would've been a grin limited to a playful smirk. "Jo and Grace might have a problem including me," he said, trying to keep her in suspense.

"I know what you're doing, and it's not funny!" Francesca said, smiling despite herself. "Tell me! Yes or no?" she whined.

Ben released his grin. "I'd like it very much, Fran," he answered softly. Ben was relieved to find that the comfort and contentment that had always formerly accompanied her presence had suddenly but subtly reattached itself to her person.

"Aw," she cooed, her eyes shining.

"What?"

"Do you know how long it's been since you called me 'Fran'?"

Ben smiled sheepishly at his slip.

Francesca giggled. Then, she caught sight of her watch. "Aw, shoot! Why now?"

"What?"

"I gotta go," she pouted. "It's almost dinnertime."

Ben looked at the clock. "Yep. You're right. Now that you mention it, I'm getting kinda hungry."

"So I guess...I'd better get going."

"Right."

"But give me a call very soon!" she ordered. "We've got to catch up!"

Ben nodded eagerly and opened the door for her. She stepped out with a sigh of relief, feeling very contented. "Bye," she said cheerily.

Ben responded with a wave. She started home but stopped. She looked back over her shoulder and stopped Ben from closing the door. "Ben!" she called.

"Yeah?"

She beamed at him. "Merry Christmas."

Ben nodded. "Feliz Navidad," he replied.

Francesca turned with a happy whip of her hair down the street. Ben closed the door behind him. _Merry Christmas indeed_.


	12. Chapter 12: JamEl, the Twins, and Jim

**Chapter 12**

Clark Kent stood alone in his bedroom before the closed door thereof on Sunday afternoon. In his left hand, he held a permanent marker and a large notepad. With his right, he momentarily held up three fingers. He then took the permanent marker and scrawled, "Can you read this, Jam-El?" and turned the message to face the door. From the other side of the door, he heard his son's voice ask, "Who's Jam-El?"

Smiling in satisfaction, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. "How many fingers?" he asked.

"Three," Ben answered, still visibly confused by the message. "Who's Jam-El?"

"You," Clark replied matter-of-factly. "Your Kryptonian name."

Ben cocked an eyebrow.

"When you were about six, I gave you one…mainly just for the heck of it. Your grandfather was Jor-El, and I'm Kal-El. So I just took the middle part of your first name and added the Kryptonian family suffix. Whenever your mother and I were talking about you and I wanted to tease her a little, I'd call you Jam-El. She would always just glare at me and warn me never to put the name of a fruit in front of it."

Ben laughed out loud.

"Anyway," Clark smiled, "do you think you're getting the hang of it? Focus and squint, remember?"

"Yeah, I think I got it. Focus and squint. The hardest part's actually controlling how deep the x-ray goes. But I think I'll eventually master that, too."

"I know. That took a while for me, too," admitted Clark. "Then, it actually became one of the most handy of my powers that I could use in daily life. For one thing, I don't have to turn things over and inside out to look for something." He then added with a smirk, "And the way you're room's getting, you're going to need that ability."

"I'll get around to it," Ben insisted.

Clark nodded. "Yeah, sure," he said amusedly.

Ben was about to protest when he heard the low grind of a mini-van pulling up the driveway. Ben x-rayed the door and surrounding wall space. "It's Mom," he said.

"Good," said Clark. He walked over to the family room and peeked in on the twins. "Hey, girls," he said, "c'mon out. Your mom's home."

The twins followed their father, soon joined by their brother, down the stairs. As they neared the last three steps, Lois Lane Kent burst through the door. "Sorry I'm late," she said immediately, "but I swear every single motorist in Kansas was on the highway today!"

"Well, hello to you too," her husband said wryly.

Lois' face, the face of a busy, energetic, and slightly annoyed woman, morphed instantly into a warm smile. Ben was often amazed at how quickly she could switch from being the clever, no-nonsense, independent working reporter she was on the job to being the efficient and loving wife and mother she was at home. "Good to see you, honey," she responded, throwing an arm around him and kissing him on the cheek. "It's good to be home."

The twins stepped forward, and Lois bent over and threw an arm around each of her daughters. "Oh," she groaned. "I missed you guys!" She then grinned at them. "Did Ben treat you right while your dad and I were gone?"

The twins exchanged mischievous glances and shook their heads.

Ben stepped forward and, placing a hand on each twin's head, swatted them playfully aside. "Don't listen to them. Most older brothers wouldn't have treated them half as good as I did."

There was a hint of knowing sympathy in the smile Lois gave her son. "How've you been?" she asked with a subtle softness in her voice.

Ben shrugged, realizing anew how much his life had changed in the short week that had passed. "I'm alright, all things considered."

Lois nodded then looked around slyly and quipped, "Well, the house is still in one piece, so…you can't have done too bad."

Clark could tell that Lois wanted to at least briefly redress Ben's revelation herself, so he conveniently said to Sam and Nikki, "Okay, girls, what do you say you and I go help your mother unpack, hmm?"

The twins looked unsure of their desire to get involved in luggage duty but nonetheless followed their father out the door. Lois turned to Ben and smiled gently. "Your dad told me what's been going on with you," she began. "How do you feel about it?"

Ben swallowed, knowing exactly what his mother was talking about. "Weird," he admitted.

Lois put an arm around his shoulders and began leading him into the kitchen. while, the twins' chatter could be heard outside, mother and son paused in silence. "I want you to know," Lois recommenced, "that whatever special abilities you have can never really change who you are."

"I think they did, though,…sort of," Ben said, ready to reassure her that he had come to terms with the change he felt and all that he had realized on the recreation center roof.

"No," Lois shook her head as they stepped into the kitchen. She turned to face him. "They only made you realize something about yourself that's always been there."

Ben looked at his mother pensively. He hadn't thought of it that way before.

"You've always had your father's compassion and sense of duty," Lois elaborated. "Now, you've just found a new outlet for those qualities. It's those qualities, more than the powers, that make your father Superman. Your powers are a part of you, but they do not define you. Do you understand?"

Ben nodded. "Thanks, Mom," he said. Having previously thought he was already completely comfortable with his revelation, his own unexpected appreciation of his mother's words surprised him.

"I'm just grateful you grew up the way you did," Lois continued. "Your father and I had to be careful."

Ben cocked an eyebrow. "How so?"  
"You were a surprise!" she chuckled. "A very pleasant one, to be sure, but still a surprise. We had nothing to go by. You were our first child and, for a while, the only kid in the world that was a mix of human and Kryptonian. We didn't know how being a mix would affect you. We hoped to death that, if it did affect you, it would affect you in the way that it has now, but even then…we wanted you to be a good person anyway, but we had to put particular effort into teaching you tolerance, kindness, humility, and responsibility. Why do you think that, to this day, you don't get angry easily? We did our best to raise you so that you could handle anger in the best way possible. Because if you inherited any of your father's abilities, and you had any kind of a temper or just liked to show off…"

"Wow," said Ben bemusedly, "I never thought of that."

"I wouldn't want you to," Lois stated. "You've got enough on your plate just being a teenager," she urged. "On top of that, you have to deal with being the Son of Superman."

"Mom, I'm proud of that," he insisted.

"I know you are," she smiled. "Heck, I'm proud to be his wife. Sometimes I want to shout it at the top of my lungs."

"Me too," Ben nodded. "But I can't."

"Nor can I," Lois replied. "I just hope…keeping the secret doesn't keep you from living your life. For the longest time, your dad was reluctant to let anyone get too close to him or have a family because he didn't want to put those he cared for in the crossfire of his…other job. I think it cost him a lot."

Ben was struck by the realization that perhaps he wasn't aware even yet of all the future implications of his powers, and he had a feeling that these unforeseen implications could only be learned through experience, experience that he somehow knew would not exactly be a walk in the park. His gaze fell downward, and he swallowed. "I guess being invulnerable and strong comes at a price."

"It does," Lois admitted tragically. "But hey," she said, lifting his chin with her finger, "it also has its perks. The worst thing you can do, for yourself and for your dad and me, is to let it get you down."

Ben smiled and nodded. "I know I may have to deal with things no other kid has to deal with," he said, "but, all things considered, I'm glad of who I am."

"Good," Lois said softly. "Now, go have some fun. You need it."

Ben nodded and departed, destined for his bedroom. Clark, who had just brought up the last bag and released the twins from duty, met him on his way up the steps and smiled gently at his son. The elder Kent then proceeded down the stairs and met his wife in the dining room.

"How is he?" Clark asked. As far as he could tell, Ben was handling his recent revelation rather well, but he wanted a second opinion.

"He's a little unsure of himself," Lois reported, "but I think he's fine."

Clark nodded. "It can be overwhelming. I remember when my powers started developing…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "And I had no one else to share it with," he remarked. "I'm glad Ben at least has someone who's been there before to talk to."

"Me too," said Lois. "That's going to be important." She bit her lip. "While we're on the subject of talking,…now that we have this experience with Ben…what should we do with the twins?"

"I don't know," Clark shrugged. "They're getting older. Soon, they may be developing powers themselves. With Ben, we decided to wait and see, and he didn't find out quite the way I'd wanted him too," he admitted.

"We need to tell them, Clark…before they might get their powers."

Clark shook his head. "I don't know, Lois," he said, sitting down at the dining table. "I'm not sure I want to go that far. Girls usually start puberty earlier than boys, so they might even start showing signs when they're just thirteen. That means, to be sure we tell them beforehand, we'd have to tell them when they're twelve! Are a pair of twelve-year-olds going to be ready for that?"

"We have two years to get them to that point," Lois pointed out as she took a seat across from him. "Clark, we shouldn't wait. My first period was a surprise, and it was frightening! If they start developing powers without knowing why, it'll be just like that, only worse. In the fifth grade, Metropolis Elementary gives a series of introductory classes on puberty and the basics of sexuality, and they'll learn all about that then. I'll supplement it. But I think we should coincide the Superman talk with that."

Clark inwardly acknowledged Lois' point. He didn't want his little girls to have their first period without prior explanation, so by the same principle, he wasn't sure he wanted any Kryptonian powers to come as a surprise, either. But still, he thought, having superhuman abilities has many more implications than a normal biological function, scary as the latter may sometimes be at first. Besides, the beginning of the female reproductive cycle in the twins was an inevitability. But there remained a decent chance that the whims of heredity would swing the other way in the twins' case, leaving them as normal as if no Kryptonian blood flowed in their veins. He sighed in deep thought. "I understand that, but scary as a girl's first period may be, the effects of having Kryptonian powers are more far-reaching. And what if, for once, the girls don't inherit anything unusual from me. Assuming for the moment we knew that was the case, at what age would we tell them?"

"About sixteen," Lois conceded.

"My thought exactly. So if they don't inherit any powers, we will have told them four years too early for nothing."

"Not only that," Lois realized aloud. "No matter how much we tell them otherwise, they may feel that they're somehow not as much your child as Ben."

Clark exhaled through his lips. "This is not an easy decision."

"Easy decisions stop at about eighteen," Lois observed flatly.

"And of course things are more complicated for us because of what I am," Clark reminded her. "This is why I was so nervous when I proposed. I mean, am I really worth all this drama?"

"Clark," Lois said, taking his hand in hers, "we've been over this. This is not your fault. I knew what I was getting into when I married you, and I made my decision. And I don't regret it. I have a caring husband and three wonderful kids. It's tough sometimes, but we'll get through it. We always do."

"Yeah," Clark smiled sadly. "We must admit, though," he observed, "that Ben started developing abilities without prior explanation, and he took it well enough."

"Yeah, but we have no idea what went through his mind between those first signs and when he figured it out," Lois countered.

"Yeah. I remember the uncertainty I felt when my abilities started showing up…and I have to say…it was not easy."

The response that was on Lois' lips was silenced by the doorbell.

"I'll get it," Clark said resignedly, rising to his feet.

"Thanks," replied Lois softly, rubbing her temples in thought.

Clark walked over to the door and opened it to find a tall teenage boy with shiny brown hair, faded jeans, and a loose T-shirt.

"Hi, Mr. Kent," the boy greeted. "I'm Jim Veston. I…uh…need to talk to Ben. Is he here?"

Clark furrowed his brow. He didn't recognize the young man as one of Ben's few casual friends. "Uh…sure. Come in."

"Thanks," said the teen, stepping in.

Clark pointed up the stairs. "Go upstairs, turn right into the hallway," he instructed. "Ben's door is on the corner facing you."

"Thank you."

Jim headed upstairs. Clark's puzzled eye followed him for a moment before the secret Man of Steel turned and started back towards the dining room.

Meanwhile, Ben was enjoying a gripping strategy game on the Kent laptop when he heard a knock on his door. Believing it to be one of his parents, he called, "Come in!" He heard the door open and, pausing his game, turned his gaze to his visitor. His eyes widened in surprise to see Jim Veston standing before him with his hands in his pocket and an uncertain expression on his face. Not sure what to say to his adversary of a few nights ago, Ben was momentarily silent.

"Dan was arrested last night for GHB possession," Jim started for him.

Ben found his voice. "One of the leading date rape drugs," he observed flatly.

"Yeah," said Jim, rubbing his neck nervously.

"Did you come here just to tell me that?" Ben asked coolly.

"No…I…uh…came because…I think I owe you an apology."

Taken slightly aback, Ben nevertheless remained suspicious. "Francesca's safe," he said tentatively. "That's all that really matters to me."

"I know…I just…" Jim trailed off then tried a different approach. "I thought you were just this guy who just couldn't get over the fact that you guys weren't as close anymore. You know? But if you hadn't been there,…I would've been too ignorant to save her from…whatever Dan had in mind."

"That's the idea."

"Yeah, it is," said Jim dejectedly. "Believe it or not, I really care for Francesca, and I know now that you were just looking out for her. She should thank you."

"She did," said Ben.

"She did?" Jim repeated.

"Well, not in so many words," Ben shrugged. "But we had a little heart-to-heart yesterday, and…we're going to be friends again."

"Hmm," mused Jim. "I guess that was more than you could've hoped for, huh?"  
Ben nodded. The conversation was growing surprisingly civil and even easy. "You could say that, yeah."

"Look, Kent," Jim digressed, "I didn't come here to make excuses, but I'm not proud of how I acted. I just wanted to say…I'm sorry." He cautiously extended his hand.

Ben hesitated, suspicious that the whole discourse was a practical joke. But Jim's face made it somewhat clear that it had taken a lot of will power to get Jim to come to his house and have this discourse. A fledgling respect for his former adversary born within him, Ben shook Jim's hand. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

Jim's relieved eyes then fell on the computer screen. "Is that Empire Earth?" he asked eagerly.

"Yeah," answered Ben. "You play it?"

Jim nodded vigorously. "Yeah. I just finished a game last night. I played France."

Ben chuckled. "I just overran the French. They kept taking pot shots at all my docks."

"What epoch are you in?"

"Digital."

"Aw, man!" said Jim. "Those futuristic epochs are so cool!"  
"Yeah, they're pretty interesting," Ben agreed, secretly surprised that a common interest seemed to be emerging.

Jim proceeded to talk about the strategic use of navy ships in the game, and Ben was impressed with his knowledge. Before Ben knew it, what he had first thought would be a short, bitter encounter had grown into an engaging and even pleasant discussion.


	13. Chapter 13: Daddy's Little Supergirls?

**Chapter 13**

"You know, we never got to finish our discussion about the twins."

Clark Kent looked up to find his wife standing in the doorway of his secret attic office. Her arms were folded as she leaned against the doorway, and her face wore an expression that was understanding yet expectant at the same time. Clark let a small chuckle escape his lips.

Hardly a minute had gone by after Jim Veston had stopped by to visit Ben before the phone had rung. Lois had volunteered to answer it, and it had turned out to be a business call that would keep her occupied for quite some time. Her husband had thus decided to pass the time alone with his thoughts until she had finished her conversation. However, his thoughts had naturally turned to his son's discoveries. He now sat on a simple blue-green couch with his legs propped up on the coffee table and his interlocked hands resting upon his abdomen. He wore no glasses to hide the deep thought behind his blue eyes, and his jet-black hair, routinely combed into the tidy mop-top look of the bookish Daily Planet reporter, had assumed a few hints of the mighty superhero's coif. In his clandestine second office, he could be who both he and Lois believed was the "real" Clark Joseph Kent: not a bookish and shy working man nor the awe-inspiring Man of Steel, but rather a seamless blend of the two.

"I'm sorry, Lois," he said with a small, apologetic smile. "I guess I just got wrapped up in thinking about Ben and how life's going to change for him."

A warm half-smile tugged at Lois' lips. "I suppose it's only natural. He is the more immediate issue. I think it'll take both of us a while to get used to him knowing what we've waited so long to tell him."

"By the way, until we do tell the twins, I think we should refrain from sending them into Ben's room to wake him up if he sleeps in."

"Why?"

"High dreams," Clark answered simply.

Lois stopped leaning against the wall, her curiosity peaked. "High dreams?" she repeated.

"It's sort of a play on the term 'wet dreams.' Until he learns how to actually fly, he'll occasionally end up floating a few feet above the bed in his sleep. Mom and Dad caught him having one on the couch when they came over yesterday."

Lois smirked at the analogy. "High dreams and wet dreams, huh?"

Clark looked at her pointedly. "It helped me deal with being so different from everyone else when I was younger. If we could at least compare it to something normal, it wasn't quite so bad. In fact, I like to think of the gradual onset of all of my powers collectively as a kind of Kryptonian puberty."

Lois smirked at him and silently sat down next to him on the sofa. "So,…any idea what to do if and when the twins start going through Kryptonian puberty."

Clark let his feet fall to the floor, repositioned himself in the chair, and leaned forward. "To tell you the truth, Lois, I really don't know," he admitted. "On the one hand, I don't want to put this secret on their shoulders any earlier than we have to. On the other hand, the older they get the more of a right they have to know, especially if they start getting unexplained abilities."

"There's also the risk that they'll inadvertently do something superhuman in public because they're not aware that they have anything to hide," observed Lois.

"Yeah," agreed her husband. "We were lucky that the unexpected delay in my talking to Ben didn't cause something like that to happen with him," he stated thoughtfully. "Of course, one thing we have going for us is the fact that the first signs of emerging powers have historically not been signs that are really visible to other people. Ben's first clue was flashes of x-ray vision, and mine was the invincibility."

"Yeah, but the strength had to have been building up for quite a while. Ben only discovered it after the x-ray vision."

"Right," Clark conceded. "The fact remains, though, that we don't know what abilities they will have. Maybe they'll have all of my powers. Maybe they'll have none. Or perhaps they'll inherit some and not others." He ran his hands through his thick hair. "If we just knew to what degree those Kryptonian genes will influence their physiology, this decision would be a lot easier to make."

"Have you talked to Dr. Farmer about this lately?" queried Lois. "Maybe some new technologies have come up recently that would allow him to give us at least some idea as to what special abilities the twins may develop."

"Last time I talked to him, he didn't think there was anything that would really help much." Clark grew thoughtful. "But it has been a while," he admitted. "I'll give him a call and see if anything's changed. Good thought, Lois."

"We don't even need to know what specific powers they'll have," explained Lois. "We just need to know a rough probability of them inheriting anything unusual."

Clark nodded. "I'll talk to him. With any luck, he might come up with something."

"The man does have his resources," Lois remarked hopefully. "But in case he can't tell us anything new, what then?" she digressed.

"Well, Lois,…look at how we handled Ben. We agreed when he was about nine that we would keep a close eye on him and watch for signs of any special abilities beginning to develop. Then, if and when we determined he would definitely have at least some of my powers, we would tell him very soon thereafter."  
"The plan was to catch him at least before he felt too freaked out or overwhelmed by any weird incidences, if not before he was aware at all of any abilities he had."  
Clark nodded affirmatively. "As far as I'm concerned, there was nothing conceptually wrong with that," he ventured to say. "We just need to be more prepared for the unexpected. Both of us got called away on business about the time we were going to tell him, and we both agreed it would be incredibly unfair of me to drop this huge secret on him and then take off to New York."

"That would definitely not have been the way to handle it," his wife agreed emphatically.

"Exactly. Plus, it's not like Ben was involved in sports or anything like that. We knew that he wasn't really involved in anything where his strength or speed might readily show themselves."

"That's our son," Lois mused. "Ever the scholar, never the athlete."

Clark chuckled. "My point is I think all we need to do is tweak the plan we used with Ben. We should learn from what went wrong and be more prepared for unexpected delays. I really think telling them before they're at least as old as Ben would be a mistake." He looked at Lois knowingly. "I think our first step, though, should be to make them as comfortable as possible with normal Terran puberty. That way, whatever anxiety they feel if and when Kryptonian puberty sets in, at least it won't be on top of the more average growing pains. Plus, we might want to stress the part about not being afraid to talk to us about anything. That might make them a little more open about anything unusual they experience."

"Fair enough," Lois replied thoughtfully. "I guess we can only do so much to ease them into being half-Kryptonian," she observed. "And I suppose at some point we just have to have faith in our parenting. We did a fairly good job preparing Ben for this, so there's no real reason to think we can't do it again."

Clark nodded. "Speaking of Ben, you should know that I'm not quite done orienting him to using his powers. You and I both know he'll be driven to use them in much the same way as I do."

"Great! Now we got two superheroes in the family," Lois quipped, a knowing glance on her face despite her facetious smile.

Clark chuckled once more. "I'm going to have a talk with him tomorrow. I want him to get some experience, but I'm certainly not going to let him fly completely solo. Not yet anyway."

"So, what are you going to tell him?"

"I'm going to lay down some boundaries and guidelines as to what he can and can't handle alone," he stated. He then proceeded to explain the ground rules he had formulated in his mind while she had been on the telephone, asking her to reaffirm her approval every so often throughout the discussion. He described the circumstances under which Ben would enlist his father as a consultant as well as those under which Clark would automatically take charge. He also informed her that, at least for the next year or two, he would observe Ben candidly whenever he happened upon his son in action, ready to intervene in case Ben lost control or demonstrated an inexperienced lapse in judgment.

"Well," Lois said when Clark had finished, "I don't really have anything to add. Ben's pretty level-headed, which is a really good thing considering all that he'll have to deal with in his life. So I think most of what you're going to say will make sense to him."

Clark nodded. "I anticipate him making a few minor mistakes, but I think you're right. I don't think he'd ever try to push the limits too much."

"I take it you'll use the same ideas for the twins when and if the time comes?" his wife asked.

"Yeah," he affirmed. A thought then occurred to him. "In fact, I ought to write them down somewhere so I don't forget and have to re-formulate. I'm not going to be having this talk with the twins for another three or four years, if I ever have it at all." He stood up. "But first, I'm going to go discuss these ground rules with Ben." He started towards the door that would lead to the staircase but stopped momentarily. "Do you want to be a part of this?

Lois thought for a second. "No. I think this is one of those talks that's best had man-to-man." She then gave him a warm half-smile. "If I think he needs it, I'll give it a mother's touch in a day or two."

Clark nodded briefly in understanding before continuing on his way out.

Lois rose to her feet, put her hands in the pockets of her jeans, and began to walk idly about the Superman office. While not really stoic or cynical, she had never considered herself to be a very sentimental person. Romantic movies, for instance, tended to make her roll her eyes instead of weep or coo about how sweet it all was. That aspect of her character was simply more subtle than it tended to be in most other women. In fact, she often referred to the more emotional, melodramatic, and hopelessly romantic members of her gender as "hyperfeminine."

Ben's recent revelations and the realization that his life would never be the same, however, were compelling her to take a trip down memory lane. Ben's great resemblance to his father in looks and now in physical prowess somehow made the uncertain circumstances of his existence all the more ironic. With the single exception of Dr. Farmer, scientists around the world still had not definitively resolved the question of whether or not a Kryptonian and an Earth human could successfully interbreed. Although there were now three viable Krypto-Terran hybrids in existence to answer that question, at least for the involved family and physician, Lois could still recall a time when neither she nor Clark nor Dr. Farmer knew for sure what exactly would result from the attempted union of Kryptonian and Terran bloodlines. Then, as if the question had grown tired of being asked, a pleasantly surprising answer had presented itself rather unexpectedly.


	14. Chapter 14: Flashbacks, Part I

**Chapter 14**

October 30, 1989

"Lois, I'm putting you on Luthor's trial."

Lois Lane Kent smirked at the chubby, middle-aged editor of the _Daily Planet_. "Gee, chief. You seem to have developed a habit of putting us Kents in charge of anything involving Lex Luthor," she observed.

Perry White chuckled dryly, which reminded Lois of her military father. The first time Lois had set foot on the main floor of the imposing edifice that housed one of Kansas' most prestigious newspapers, she had been greeted by the sound of White's sharp yet smooth voice bellowing orders to his secretary, photographers, and reporting staff like an army general. This might've intimidated Lois had she not been the progeny of a man with that very profession. Although Perry had soon demonstrated that he had a softer, more grandfatherly side to his character, Lois was very much in her element working for a no-nonsense man who commanded great respect and believed "beating around the bush is for the birds."

"Are you kidding?" said White. "You have always been one of the stealthiest and most persistent reporters I've ever had on the payroll, and Clark's always seemed to have an especially passionate distaste for the guy that comes across on the page somehow without violating the objectivity of journalism." He put on his reading glasses and began his daily ritual of moving articles around like jigsaw puzzle pieces on a large sheet of paper, searching for that magical arrangement that would make the paper sell best. "Put those two together, and I have a worthy opposing team for secretive, resourceful Lex Luthor." He looked up at her for a moment. "In fact, the only reason I'm not putting Clark on this too is that he practically begged for the gig on the French mafia activity in Paris."

Lois chuckled quietly to herself, inwardly knowing Clark's true motives behind this. "You know Clark. He's a small-town farmboy who didn't really get to travel a lot until he came to the _Planet_. He probably wanted the job just as an excuse to go to France and see the sights."

"If that's all he wanted, I might've been willing to send him on an early vacation. After that Pulitzer-worthy exposé on the Malatia scandal, you both deserve it."

"It's been a week, chief," Lois reminded him. "You're still raving about that?"  
Perry laughed. "I suppose the last thing you need is a bigger ego," he admitted. "I guess I'm as much astounded by Luthor's craftiness as I am by the investigative prowess of Team Kent." He stopped experimenting with the draft layout, took off his glasses, and looked her in the eye. "I mean, the man had a deadly virus genetically engineered to respond only to specific antibodies owned by Lexcorp. Then, he had the city water lines contaminated and proceeded to cash in on the people's dire medical needs. It took Superman to prove that the virus itself had come from Lexcorp labs!" The editor shook his head in awe. "How he managed to make it look so convincingly like a natural, microbiological disaster is amazing! His intentions leave a lot to be desired, but let's face it: the man's a genius!"

Lois scoffed. "That 'genius' is in prison right now, and he's still making life difficult for me. Clark insisted that I get tested for exposure. I had to give blood and urine samples because of that creep!"

White replaced his glasses and returned to his work, idly responding, "Yeah, well, I guess it's a good thing Superman's got a good head on his shoulders, too."

Lois rose to her feet. "Well, chief," she began. "I can't say I won't enjoy watching Lex Luthor have his day in court. Let's just hope he doesn't bribe and intimidate his way into a 'not guilty' verdict this time." She turned and headed on her way out of the editor's large office.

"If he doesn't, it won't be for lack of trying," she heard Perry remind her as she stepped out. As a result of years of repeated treks between her desk and Perry White's, she found her own generously-sized cubicle almost mindlessly among the maze of cubicles and walled-in offices of the _Daily Planet_. Once there, she half-sat, half-collapsed into her aging swivel chair. No sooner had she done so than her telephone sounded from its post next to a spacious desk calendar. She picked up the receiver with habitual swiftness. "Hello?" she said rather routinely into the mouthpiece.

"Lois? This is Dr. Farmer," said a familiar voice from the other end.

Lois leaned forward in her chair, somewhat surprised. "Dr. Farmer. Hi," she greeted. Then, it occurred to her why he was calling at her office. "Did you get the test results back?" she asked.

"I did," confirmed the middle-aged physician. "First of all, you can tell Clark that you're in no danger. Your samples came back negative for Luthor's virus."

"Oh, I'll tell him, alright," Lois reassured him emphatically. "So, I'm guessing there's a 'second of all' coming up here?"

"You don't miss a lick, do you, Lois?" Dr. Farmer chuckled.

"I'm a reporter," she reminded him wryly. "I can't afford to."

"I suppose not," the doctor agreed. "Anyway, I didn't find any trace of the virus but I did find something else. Something I wasn't expecting to find. I was a little surprised, to tell you the truth. In fact, I had the labs redo the tests just to be sure."

Lois' interest was piqued. "Okay, spill. What's going on?"

"The urine samples came back positive for human chorionic gonadotropin."

"I don't speak Medical," Lois remarked with a roll of her eyes.

"It's amazing, really," said Dr. Farmer. "I've been trying to figure out if you and Clark would be able to conceive ever since the two of you got really serious about each other. Now, when I wasn't even looking for it, I seem to have gotten my answer."

Lois' jaw dropped. "Are you serious?" she managed to utter.

"You're pregnant, Lois," confirmed Dr. Farmer. "I'd like to run some tests just to make absolute sure, but I'd almost bet my license on it. This is the same hormone that most home pregnancy tests respond to. The facts all say you're pregnant."

Lois' instinctively brought a tender hand to her abdomen. Still agape and wide-eyed, she blinked a few times before regaining her ability to speak. "I can't believe this!"

"Just remember, Lois," said Dr. Farmer carefully. "All we know is that fertilization and implantation have been successful. We still don't know anything about the viability of the embryo. This is still very uncharted territory." The physician paused for a moment in digression. "There is certainly some hope, and the very fact that the reproductive process has come this far is very encouraging. I just want you and Clark to be prepared for the worst as well as the best."

"Of course," Lois nodded. "I don't think you should worry too much about me. I like to think I'm pretty good at being realistic about these sorts of things. It's Clark we should probably be a little more concerned about. We both want children, but I can tell Clark especially wants this to work. I think…" She stopped and looked around her, making sure no one happened to be idle enough to be listening with any attentiveness. Then, as an added precaution, she cupped her hand over her mouth and the mouthpiece of the telephone. "I think this will give him a more firmly rooted sense of belonging, you know, in the human race," she said softly.

"I can imagine," Dr. Farmer agreed. "Having a family and being so widely accepted by the public as Superman both go a long way, but being able to have children with an Earth woman would really seal the deal."

"In fact," Lois decided, removing her hand now that all mention of anything suspicious had passed, "let's not tell Clark until we at least know for absolute sure about this." She drew out a pencil from a mug she had next to her PC, poised to jot down a new engagement on her desk calendar. "When can I come in for the tests?"

Dr. Farmer and Lois exchanged dates and times of availability, and they soon agreed on an afternoon appointment at a biomedical clinic/laboratory that Farmer visited regularly as a researcher. When Lois finally hung up the telephone, she hardly moved for a moment as she let herself fully realize the significance of what Dr. Farmer had told her. She was pregnant! She was carrying a developing child within her: her and Clark's child. Despite all the uncertainty surrounding the baby's viability and how its unique lineage would affect it, she couldn't help but smile very contentedly to herself as she slowly returned to her work as a reporter.

November 2, 1989

Lois Kent tried to distract herself by watching the coffee flow from the automatic dispenser into the sturdy paper cup she held below its nozzle. She was slightly unnerved by her own acute anticipation, and the silence of Dr. Farmer's rather luxurious half-office/half-sitting room only seemed to sharpen it. She had never been the type to be anxious or on edge about anything, and it annoyed her that her mental state seemed so out-of-character. Yet she couldn't help it. Dr. Farmer had told her both verbally and non-verbally that the chances that there had been an error were slim. Yet as she passed the time waiting for the results of the vigorous round of tests she had undergone, the slight doubt that nevertheless existed seemed determined to make itself heard in her mind almost as if it sensed its own impending doom and refused to die without a fight. Her anxiousness led her to the surprising discovery that, although maternity had always been somewhat appealing to her, the desire to be a mother was greater within her than even she had thought. It may have even matched Clark's longing for fatherhood.

Soon, she had drunk half of the coffee, and just as her lips were poised to take another sip, she heard a door open. Her head whipped swiftly to the right, where she found Dr. Farmer approaching her.

He reached her without much delay and with subtle deliberation in his gait. Lois took a final sip before meeting his gaze. There was a hint of fascination in his eyes as he said with a small smile, "I think congratulations are in order."

Lois exhaled and chuckled weakly in awe. A sensation of relief and joy arose within her, and it manifested itself more in her eyes than in the albeit telling smile that she allowed to form on her lips. "That's great," she managed to say.

"I was quite pleased about it myself," confessed the doctor.

She exhaled once more, her eyes acquiring a distant, thoughtful look for a moment before she blinked and returned her gaze to the physician before her. "How far along am I?" she inquired, unable to think of anything else to say at the moment.

"About a month," Farmer answered. He then took her gently by the arm and guided her to a chair. Feeling secure in the current relative emptiness of the spacious lobby, he sat down next to her with a soft groan. "Lois," he began quietly. "I have to admit. I'm fascinated by this! I'm fascinated by the fact that a Kryptonian man and a Terran woman have been able to procreate! But before any of us get too excited,…I have to ask you something."

Lois grew somewhat concerned. "What is it?"

Dr. Farmer averted his gaze and concentrated on his shoes for a moment. "Lois, I'm only asking this because the possibility of you and Clark having a child of your own was quite often doubtful. This has nothing to do with the kind of person I think you are." Slowly, he looked up at her. "I'm not here to judge you, whatever you say to me now can be kept confidential, but I need to know this."

Lois was becoming slightly puzzled. "What?" she asked again.

Dr. Farmer sighed and braced himself. "Has there been anyone else,…by your own consent or otherwise,…who could be the father?"

Lois was somewhat taken aback. Her first instinct was to be insulted, but the earnestness in Dr. Farmer's eyes helped the rationale of his question sink in. She looked the physician straight in the eyes in order to somehow convey her sincerity. "No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "The only way that would ever happen is against my will, and nothing like that has happened to me."

"I thought as much," Dr. Farmer nodded with a small smile. "Well then," he said, rising to his feet with a soft groan, "I think it's time to let the Man of Steel know he's going to be a father."

Something about the prospect of telling Clark the news seemed to make it all even more official. She imagined Clark's reaction, and the thought only supplemented her own excitement. She chuckled more vigorously now and smiled brightly.


End file.
